THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

•LOS  ANGELES 


MARIPOSILLA 


MARIPOSILLA 


BY 

MRS.   CHARLES    STEWART    DAGGETT 


CHICAGO  AND  NEW  YORK: 

RAND,  McNALLY   &  COMPANY. 

MDCCCXCVl. 


Copyright,  1896,  by  Rand,  McNally  &  Co. 


'5' 


MARIPOSILLA. 


CHAPTER  I. 

WHEN  I  abandoned  the  home  of  my 
girlhood,  and  took  my  delicate  child  to 
California,  I  started  upon  the  journey 
goaded  only  by  apathetic  hopes,  sustained 
only  by  the  desperation  of  despair. 

Marjorie  was  my  all,  and  I  could  no 
longer  endure  the  tension  of  her  gradual 
decline.  As  I  watched  her  fade  away,  I 
realized  that  my  closest  friends  were  be 
coming  reconciled  to  my  bereavement, 
with  the  philosophical  fortitude  of  specta 
tors.  When  I  was  coolly  advised  "  not  to 
sacrifice  pecuniary  interests  for  the  senti 
ment  of  a  hopeless  experiment,"  an  out 
raged  love  grew  strong  and  defiant.  The 
calculating  counsel,  so  cruel  and  unex 
pected,  strengthened,  at  last,  the  timid 
resolution.  Even  the  silent  walls  of  my 
house  oppressed,  while  an  absolute  hatred 

(6) 


6  MARIPOSILLA. 

of  the  machinery  of  life  seized  my  tired 
soul.  I  determined  to  be  free  at  any 
price.  Fresh  courage  entered  my  life,  and 
impelled  me  to  remove,  without  a  pang, 
most  cherished  household  gods.  My  relief 
was  immoderate  when  everything  was 
gone.  Then  I  experienced  for  the  first 
time  in  years  the  sweet  exhilaration  that 
welcomes,  breathlessly,  a  change.  In  my 
dreams  I  had  apparitions  of  purple  moun 
tains,  and  long  quiet  days  purified  with 
sunshine.  Suddenly,  into  my  sad  life 
there  came  new  hope,  kindled,  it  seemed, 
from  the  very  ashes  of  an  abortive  past. 

Before  I  realized  the  initial  steps  of  my 
undertaking,  anticipated  perplexities  had 
been  absorbed  by  the  novel  conditions  of 
our  journey.  Four  days  away  from  the 
old  home  and  New  York  found  me  hap 
pier  than  for  months,  when  I  saw  for  the 
first  time  a  flush  upon  the  pallid  cheeks 
of  my  child,  the  faintest  reflection  of  the 
coveted  boon  I  sought. 

A  fresh  excitement  made  me  strong  for 
each  new  duty.  The  present  at  last  held 
all  that  I  craved.  When  I  watched  my 
child  among  her  pillows,  so  much  better 
that  she  prattled  of  great  plans  to  be 


MARIPOSILLA.  7 

carried  out  on  the  far  away  Coast,  I  loved 
even  then  the  land.  To  see  the  little  one 
sleep,  and  watch  for  her  awakening  among 
the  great  quiet  mountains,  was  to  my 
heart  an  ecstasy.  "Dear  Mamma,"  she 
cried,  clasping  her  thin  hands  as  the  train 
clambered  close  to  the  silent  monarchs  of 
the  West,  "  I  want  to  touch  they!  " 

"  Yes,  sweetheart,"  I  said  ;  "  When  Mar- 
jorie  is  strong  and  well,  she  shall  not  only 
touch  the  dear  mountains,  but  she  shall 
crawl  into  their  very  arms  !  Mamma  will 
take  her  -into  the  beautiful  canons,  where 
little  streams  always  sing  to  the  tall  ferns; 
we  shall  have  a  picnic,  and  perhaps  the 
fairies  will  come  !  When  my  little  girl 
sees  the  Fairy  Queen  she  can  ask  for  a 
boon,  like  Mabel  in  the  song.  Perhaps 
the  Queen  will  say:  '  So  this  is  little 
Marjorie,  who  came  all  the  way  from  New 
York  to  see  us  ?  Marjorie  is  a  good  child, 
and  was  very  patient  during  her  long 
journey.  She  took  her  bitter  medicine 
bravely,  and  now  she  must  be  rewarded. 
What  shall  be  done  for  her,  my  Fairies  ? ' 

"  Then  perhaps  one  kind  fairy  may  say, 
'  Her  cheeks  must  grow  pink  like  a  La 
France  rose';  and  another,  'Her  limbs 


8  MARIPOSILLA. 

must  grow  strong  like  a  perfect  tree'; 
and  a  third,  '  Her  eyes  must  be  bright  like 
the  stars,  and  she  must  soon  be  well,  and 
as  happy  as  she  is  pretty.' " 

Thus  I  romanced  to  my  patient  child, 
snatching  an  inspiration  from  every  mile 
that  drove  us  into  the  far  country. 

When  we  entered  the  wide,  trackless 
desert — the  home  of  distorted  yuccas, 
which  stretched  gaunt  arms  to  the  cloud 
less  sky,  like  hopeless  criminals  doomed  to 
the  intermediate  wastes  of  purgatory — I 
knew  that  the  "  Happy  Valley "  lay  be 
yond.  Then  my  child  was  sleeeping  for 
long  hours  at  a  time;  nor  did  she  awaken 
until  the  last  yucca  had  vanished  from  the 
desert's  edge;  then  she  opened  her  eyes  in 
Wonderland!  For  the  overland  train  had 
completed  its  conquest.  The  great  moun 
tain  chains  had  been  passed  over  in  safety, 
while  far  behind,  fields  of  snow  and  shriek 
ing  blasts  were  forgotten,  as  we  glided 
peacefully  into  the  beautiful  Valley  of  San 
Gabriel,  that  Pet  Marjorie  might  live. 

Our  long  journey  was  ended.  We  could 
rest,  although  not  perfectly  until  after 
leaving  the  pleasant  hotel  known  as  the 
East  San  Gabriel,  when  I  hoped  to  find  in 


MARIPOSILLA.  9 

the  old  Spanish  home  of  the  Dona  Maria 
Del  Valle  the  coveted  seclusion  of  which 
I  had  dreamed. 

From  the  beginning  of  our  journey, 
everyone  had  been  interested  in  Marjorie. 

I  soon  found  myself  accepting  small 
attentions  from  sympathetic  strangers  as 
naturally  as  I  would  have  accepted,  a  few 
weeks  before,  the  favors  of  old  friends. 

It  thus  happened  that  I  first  heard  of 
the  Dona  Maria  Del  Valle,  through  a  lady 
and  her  son  with  whom  I  traveled.  "A 
most  perfect  place  for  Pet  Marjorie  would 
be  with  the  Dona  Maria  Del  Valle,"  Mrs. 
Sanderson  had  told  me,  shortly  after  our 
arrival  in  San  Gabriel,  when  I  inquired  of 
all  for  a  home  that  would  shelter  us  for  at 
least  a  year.  Marjorie  must  not  live  in  a 
hotel,  exposed  to  the  constant  excite 
ment  of  robust  children  and  irresponsible 
strangers. 

Besides,  I  desired  to  try  not  only  the 
winter  of  Southern  California,  but  the 
long,  unimpassioned  summer,  so  conducive 
to  the  restoration  of  the  delicate. 

My  new  friend  had  spent  the  previous 
season  in  San  Gabriel;  she  was  familiar 
with  the  locality,  and  offered  at  once  to 


10  MARIPOSILLA. 

intercede  in  our  behalf  with  the  Dona 
Maria  Del  Valle.  When  she  told,  in  her 
captivating  way,  of  the  quaint,  picturesque 
Spanish  home,  I  could  content  myself  with 
no  other  retreat,  and  begged  that  the  pre 
liminary  arrangements  might  be  made  at 
once.  From  the  first  moment  of  our 
acquaintance,  Mrs.  Sanderson's  attentions 
had  been  agreeable.  As  soon  as  we  arrived 
at  the  hotel  she  was  perfectly  at  home. 
Every  one  hastened  to  serve  her,  and  I 
perceived  that  she  was  an  acknowledged 
authority  wherever  she  went.  My  mind 
was  not  then  equal  to  the  analysis  of  char 
acter.  I  was  unsuspicious  and  willing  to 
believe  in  the  assumed  qualities  of  those 
about  me.  It  was  enough  that  my  child 
was  improving  hourly  in  health,  and  that 
I  had  found  a  congenial  and  sympathetic 
companion  in  my  extremity. 

Now  that  I  have  undertaken  a  story  in 
which  Mrs.  Sanderson  and  her  son  Sidney 
so  conspicuously  figure,  I  feel  compelled 
to  review  carefully  my  early  and  subse 
quent  impressions  of  both,  in  order  that 
the  events  of  our  short  and  memorable 
acquaintance  may  be  readily  understood. 

Doubtless  my  estimate  of  entire  strang- 


MARIPOSILLA.  11 

ers  would  have  been  different  under  less 
intense  circumstances  ;  but,  at  that  time, 
any  one  who  appeared  interested  in  my 
child  was  at  once  my  friend  —  not  only 
the  conspicuous  and  influential,  but  the 
humble  and  uncultivated,  as  well.  Look 
ing  back  over  those  trying  weeks,  I  now 
remember  hosts  of  delicate  attentions  dis 
pensed  by  the  unpretentious,  that  at  the 
time  were  hardly  realized,  owing  to  the 
effusive  ostentations  of  the  Sandersons. 

Since  I  have  studied  carefully  the  events 
which  followed  rapidly  from  the  beginning 
of  our  acquaintance,  I  am  certain  that 
neither  Marjorie  nor  myself  would  have 
received  the  slightest  notice  from  either 
Mrs.  Sanderson  or  her  son,  had  we  failed 
in  their  selfish  entertainment.  My  little 
girl,  beautiful  and  bright,  unconsciously 
stole  into  the  coldest  hearts  ;  but  I  know 
now  that  it  was  not  her  delicate  frame, 
nor  the  pathos  of  a  defrauded  childhood 
that  won  the  devotion  of  Mrs.  Sanderson. 
It  was  simply  that  Marjorie  was  an  addi 
tional  amusement,  an  additional  effect, 
enlivening  the  small  court  which  the  lady 
invariably  held.  The  capricious  woman 
petted  the  child  only  for  entertainment. 


12  MARIPOSILLA. 

A  thoroughbred  dog,  or  a  kitten,  could 
have  won  her  interest  as  successfully,  had 
her  passing  mood  been  favorable  to  their 
antics.  Her  fancy  for  myself  was  equally 
selfish.  I  was  young  enough  to  interest 
her  son,  and  from  the  first  she  evidently 
regarded  me  as  a  convenient  and  suitable 
companion  for  the  winter.  I  learned 
afterwards  that  Mrs.  Sanderson  was  noto 
riously  fond  of  young  widows.  She 
treated  them  with  unusual  favor  in  view 
of  eventual  schemes  which  she  generally 
worked.  Her  only  idea  of  life  was  enter 
tainment,  and,  in  order  to  satisfy  her 
thirst  for  novelty,  she  had  always  chosen 
pretty  widows  to  expand  her  power  and 
promote  her  individual  caprices.  Unin- 
cumbered  by  the  unreasonable  demands 
of  a  husband,  she  regarded  a  pathetic 
young  widow  a  most  desirable  companion  ; 
always  securing,  if  possible,  a  fresh  one 
for  the  nucleus  of  her  social  experiments. 
Why  I  should  have  submitted  to  this 
woman's  patronage,  I  can  not  understand. 
My  only  excuse  is  the  recollection  of  an 
unsuspicious  joy,  that  came  like  new  life 
into  my  soul.  Marjorie  was  getting  well ! 
and  there  was  no  one  who  understood  my 


MARIPOSILLA.  13 

happiness  like  Mrs.  Sanderson.  It  never 
occurred  to  me  to  doubt  her  sincerity. 
That  she  was  often  haughty  and  disagree 
able  to  others  I  saw,  but  for  me  she  had 
only  indulgence  and  delicate  sympathy. 
Under  calming  climatic  influences  my 
pagan  intuitions  grew  hourly.  Beneath 
the  lights  and  shadows  of  the  prophetic 
mountains,  analytical  tendencies  ceased. 
Possibly  my  creeds  became  unorthodox, 
but  they  expanded  cheerfully  each  day, 
that  they  might  hold  more  of  God's  har 
monious  universe  and  less  of  man's  de 
formity. 

I  believed  afresh  in  universal  philan 
thropy.  '  The  sweet  lethargic  days  were 
satisfying  ;  I  had  no  desire  to  analyze  the 
motives  of  my  associates. 

I  was  no  longer  interested  in  attenuated 
studies  of  character.  The  Book  of  Nature, 
and  the  literal  tales  of  "  Mother  Goose " 
now  constituted  my  library.  For  the 
present,  the  Wise  Men  of  Athens  were  no 
wiser  than  the  man  who  so  successfully 
evaded  the  consequences  of  the  "  bramble 
bush."  Now  that  my  child  had  been  given 
back  to  me,  no  unnecessary  suspicions  dis 
turbed  my  credulous  content.  I  had  been 


14  MARIPOSILLA. 

tired  so  long,  that  to  rest,  at  last,  necessa 
rily  developed  passive  conditions  over 
which  I  had  but  languid  control. 

Mrs.  Sanderson,  crossing  my  path  at 
this  particular  time,  appeared  to  be  the 
very  person  to  stimulate  my  reviving  in 
terest  in  life,  and  I  accepted  eagerly  and 
without  analysis  the  friendship  she  offered. 

From  the  first,  I  had  been  fascinated  by 
her  alertness.  Unconsciously,  I  felt  in 
debted  to  her  for  my  renewed  fortunes.  It 
was  not  until  long  afterward  that  I  discov 
ered  how  very  little  she  really  did  for  me, 
or  for  anyone  else,  when  she  appeared  to 
be  doing  so  much.  She  always  assumed 
the  leadership  of  social  affairs  so  cleverly, 
that  to  have  questioned  her  right  would 
have  proved  fatal  to  the  individual.  It 
was  impossible  to  resist  her  personality 
when  she  chose  to  be  engaging. 

She  was  tall  and  slender,  with  the  estab 
lished  slenderness  that  emphasizes  dis 
tinction  at  forty-five,  when  plump  women 
often  exhibit  the  ripeness  of  decay. 

In  a  word,  Mrs.  Sanderson  eclipsed 
completely  her  feminine  cotemporaries, 
often  exciting  jealous  antagonisms. 

The  lady's  superior  preservation  was  at 


MARIPOSILLA.  15 

times  exasperating-,  and  her  scornful  indif 
ference  to  topics  usually  interesting  to 
middle  life  disconcerted  and  annoyed  do 
mestic  women  of  her  own  age.  Her  infir 
mities  she  heroically  concealed,  and  was 
never  surprised  into  the  acknowledgement 
of  a  physical  weakness.  The  chronic 
afflictions  of  other  women  never  moved 
her  to  sympathetic  confidences.  In  fact, 
she  avoided  systematically  the  society  of 
older  women,  while  she  ingratiated  her 
self  irresistibly  with  young  people  of  both 
sexes. 

For  these  reasons,  Mrs.  Sanderson  was 
frequently  disliked,  but  as  few  dared  to 
oppose  her  openly,  her  sway  always  grew 
to  be  absolute. 


CHAPTER  II. 

MRS.  SANDERSON,  at  the  various  stations 
of  her  social  pilgrimage,  had  managed 
to  create  fresh  enthusiasms  for  every 
shrine.  Each  year  found  her  alert,  sub 
stituting  new  images  for  those  cast 
down,  and,  withal,  grading  so  ingen 
iously  the  declivities  of  time,  that  the 
world  failed  to  detect  the  skillful  engi 
neering,  because  for  her  there  had  been 
none  of  those  abrupt  drops  so  disastrous 
to  the  grace  of  womanhood. 

She  was  always  in  sympathy  with  the 
age.  For  this  reason  she  was  perpetu 
ally  surrounded  by  young  people,  who 
referred  to  her  upon  all  questions,  accept 
ing  her  decree  as  preeminent. 

Her  distinguished  bearing  and  capti 
vating  manners  were  so  infectious  that, 
before  she  had  been  in  San  Gabriel  a 
week,  she  was  the  recognized  authority 
of  the  hotel. 

It  was  suicidal  to  one's  standing  with  a 
laundress  to  advocate  the  doctrines  of 

(16) 


MARIPOSILLA.  17 

unfluted  linen,  contrary  to  the  opinion 
of  Mrs.  Sanderson.  Even  the  non-emo 
tional  .Wing  Lee  replied  to  my  entreaty 
"  to  handle  less  roughly  Marjorie's  frocks": 
"  High  tone  lady  she  muchey  likey  my 
washey  !  my  starchey  !  "  I  felt  the  pro 
priety  of  the  rebuke  when  Mrs.  Sander 
son  at  that  moment  sauntered  past  my 
door. 

Having  established  her  position,  even 
in  the  estimation  of  the  domestics  and 
Celestials,  it  is  not  surprising  that  at 
the  end  of  two  weeks  she  was  widely 
known  in  the  district  of  San  Gabriel. 
Devoutly  feared  by  the  usual  social 
barometers  of  the  hotel,  adored  by  all 
on  whom  she  smiled,  and  hated  by  the 
unfortunate  few  ostracized  from  her 
favor,  she  seemed  the  sun  of  the  San 
Gabriel  social  system,  compelling  Sidney 
and  every  one  about  her  to  reflect  mod 
estly  the  capricious  beams  she  magnani 
mously  bestowed.  In  the  meantime,  a 
marvelous  change  had  taken  place  in  the 
bare  apartments  that,  up  to  the  present 
time,  had  not  been  distinguished  as  the 
choice  of  a  popular  leader.  The  rooms 
were  no  longer  suggestive  of  the  fluctu- 


18  MARIPOSILLA. 

ating  tourist,  but  suddenly  became  rich  in 
abiding  personality  and  comfort. 

It  was  observable  that  the  obsequious 
housekeeper  had  rifled  other  apartments, 
and  that  couches  and  easy  chairs  had 
materialized  with  a  due  conformity  to 
the  prolific  climate. 

The  formerly  obtrusive  white  walls 
soon  grew  companionable,  as  pictures, 
draperies,  Japanese  plaques,  and  charac 
teristic  Indian  baskets  sprouted  upon 
them  each  night.  In  all  directions  were 
strewn  evidences  of  travel  and  refine 
ment. 

In  the  bepillowed  alcove  a  dainty  tea 
table  invited  the  five  o'clock  teabibbers 
of  the  circle  elect,  while  a  piano  and 
stringed  instruments  allured  the  musical, 
and  always  the  young. 

More  noticeable,  however,  than  all  else 
in  the  rooms  was  the  display  of  attractive 
photographs,  indicating  for  the  Sander 
sons  a  large  and  distinguished  acquaint 
ance  of  beautiful  women. 

"  Sid's  sweethearts  !  "  the  mother  said 
playfully,  to  the  girls  who  questioned  her 
about  the  rival  beauties,  and  when  a  pert 
miss  bravely  intimated  that  young  Sander- 


MARIPOSILLA.  19 

son  must  be  "  a  kind  of  a  Blue  Beard," 
the  lady  good-naturedly  replied:  "  Oh,  yes, 
Sid  is  terribly  fickle.  Most  of  the  dear 
ones  have  been  beheaded  long  ago,  and 
now  the  naughty  boy  is  only  in  love  with 
his  mother." 

At  the  same  time,  we  noticed  that  the 
face  of  one  beautiful  girl  was  repeated 
many  times  in  the  collection,  and  inferred 
that  this  particular  beauty  still  found 
favor. 

The  son  was  noncommittal.  He  {sub 
mitted  indifferently  to  the  attentions  of 
the  various  young  women  who  thronged 
his  mother's  rooms,  yet  more  often 
appeared  bored  than  entertained. 

Had  I  met  Sidney  away  from  his  clever 
relative,  I  am  certain  I  would  never  have 
honored  him  with  my  acquaintance;  but 
from  the  first  his  mother  compelled  me, 
as  well  as  her  entire  circle  of  friends,  to 
accept  the  young  man  at  her  estimate. 
Sidney  Sanderson  was  undoubtedly  a 
striking  development  of  his  type;  but 
foolish  indulgence,  a  naturally  indolent 
and  unsympathetic  disposition  —  together 
with  certain  disreputable  vices,  had  made 
him  totally  unworthy  of  the  considera- 


20  MARIPOSILLA. 

tion  he  received.  About  his  full,  blond 
physique  there  was  a  blase"  indifference 
which  unfortunately  very  often  fascinates 
young  girls.  Yet,  without  his  mother,  the 
young  man  would  have  found  it  difficult 
to  retain  social  approbation.  Deprived  of 
her  shielding  expedients,  his  dissipations 
would  have  become  notorious,  his  gentle 
manly  pretensions  questioned. 

Away  from  her  far-reaching  influence, 
her  vigilant  contrivance  and  conquering 
resources,  he  would  not  have  been  long 
courted  or  extolled. 

The  usual  unhappy  demand  for  young 
men  would  doubtless  have  insured,  for  a 
time,  his  toleration  about  the  hotel,  but 
his  position  would  have  been  different. 
He  would  have  been  openly  criticised,  and 
perhaps  denounced,  unprotected  by  his 
mother's  popularity. 

As  it  was,  no  one  dared  to  hint  an 
unfavorable  judgment  on  the  son  of  the 
gifted  mother  who  put  words  into  his 
mouth  and  characteristics  to  his  account, 
which,  in  reminiscent  moods,  must  have 
embarrassed  him. 

Mrs.  Sanderson  approved,  or  withered 
instantly,  our  plans,  although  she  never 


MARIPOSILLA.  21 

neglected  to  refer  with  the  sweetest  sub 
serviency  to  her  son.  "Ask  Sid,"  she 
would  say ;  "  I  dare  say  he  will  think  it 
quite  the  thing  for  us  all,  but  his  judg 
ments  are  so  much  quieter  than  mine,  that 
he  is  best  to  consult."  Thus  she  con 
stituted  her  self-instructed  oracle  a  para 
mount  authority. 

I  am  still  fascinated  with  the  recollec 
tions  of  this  wily  woman.  Her  ability  to 
deceive  captivates  me  now,  as,  in  the 
beginning  of  our  acquaintanceship,  it 
enthralled  my  reason  and  silenced  my 
prejudices. 

Not  satisfied  with  posing  her  son  before 
the  young  and  unthinking  as  a  model  of 
refinement,  endowed  with  the  intrinsic 
qualities  of  manhood,  his  intellectual  up 
heavals  were  often  depicted  in  side  talk, 
with  celebrities.  Once  with  maternal  dis 
cretion  as  fine  as  it  was  impertinent,  she 
told  our  latest  nervously  prostrated  author 
ess,  who  was  enjoying  a  cup  of  tea  in  the 
alcove,  about  her  boy's  passion  for  old 
books.  "  Sidney's  library  is  his  one  ex 
travagance,"  she  confided,  sweetly.  Then, 
with  unblushing  assurance,  she  told  how 
her  son's  intellectual  indulgence  had  cost 


22  MARIPOSILLA. 

her  an  orange  ranch  ;  yet,  owing  to  the 
extremely  moral  character  of  the  fad,  she 
had  grown  resigned.  Only  once  had  she 
ventured  a  remonstrance  —  when  a  fabu 
lous  sum  was  paid  for  an  atrocious  old 
Dante,  too  absolutely  filthy  for  any  one 
but  a  connoisseur.  Of  course,  she  knew 
she  was  uncultivated,  but  she  preferred 
her  books  fresh  and  clean,  with  attractive 
covers.  However,  there  were  compensa 
tions  with  every  trial,  and  Sid's  veneration 
for  antiquities  might  still  prove  a  blessing, 
as  she  herself  would  some  day  be  suffi 
ciently  antique  to  justify  his  supreme 
devotion. 

Thus  the  woman  audaciously  chattered, 
advertising  fearlessly  the  bogus  literary 
tastes  of  her  son. 

If  we  questioned  Sidney's  phenomenal 
reticence  upon  subjects  so  near  his  heart, 
for  convenient  reasons  all  appeared  will 
ing  to  accept  the  mother's  version  of  the 
unexplored  country  where  gold  abounded 
—  and  still  waters  ran  to  a  depth  unpar 
alleled. 

Now  that  the  scales  have  fallen  from  my 
eyes,  I  have  spare  justification  for  this 
woman,  for  so  many  weeks  my  daily  com- 


MARIPOSILLA.  23 

panion.  Even  a  mother's  desperation  can 
not  excuse  her  conduct,  although  it  may 
possibly  moderate  its  enormity  in  the  eyes 
of  those  who  have  sought  to  shield  with 
ornate  falsehood  an  unworthy  child.  With 
the  woman's  clear  perception,  she  must 
have  known  more  certainly  than  all  others 
the  fullest  truth  concerning  her  son.  She 
could  not  be  blind  to  his  aimless  life,  his 
selfish  nature,  his  depraved,  ill-controlled 
passions.  Yet,  with  all  her  superior  knowl 
edge  of  the  risk,  she  deemed  it  her  right 
to  supplement  her  boy's  deficiencies  by 
chimerical  attractions,  sheltering  him,  if 
possible,  to  the  end,  beneath  the  decencies 
and  refinements  of  society. 

Without  his  mother  in  the  breach,  Sid 
ney  Sanderson  would  undoubtedly  have 
been  publicly  disgraced  many  times,  for 
he  was  not  a  clever  rogue.  Yet,  only 
once,  to  my  knowledge,  did  his  disreput 
able  conduct  appear  in  print,  and  even  then 
the  mother  proved  herself  equal  to  the 
dastardly  emergencies  of  the  scandal. 

The  affair  occurred  in  one  of  the  quick- 
grown  Western  cities  in  which  the  San 
dersons  were  financially  interested.  They 
lived  in  the  place  for  a  number  of  months, 


24  MARIPOSILLA. 

and  were  soon  the  center  of  the  fashion 
able  !  questionable  !  mushroom  !  set  of  the 
town.  I  had  the  story  from  an  eye  witness 
of  the  unique  local  travesty,  which,  to 
gether  with  my  personal  knowledge  of  the 
leading  lady's  adaptation  for  her  part, 
enabled  me  to  readily  imagine  the  dram 
atic  force  of  the  situation. 

It  was  simple  to  see  a  group  of  fair 
gossipers,  suspending  instantly  the  bold 
assertions  of  the  moment,  when  the  tall, 
gracious,  masterful  Mrs.  Sanderson  ap 
peared  among  them,  holding  in  her 
beautiful  jeweled  hands  the  daily  paper. 
Still  easier  to  fancy  the  incredulous 
expressions,  followed  by  eager  devotion 
to  fancy  work,  when  the  lady  deliber 
ately  seated  herself  in  the  cosy  corner 
of  the  hotel  corridor  and  read,  unflinch 
ingly,  a  long,  scandalous  article,  replete 
with  stinging  invective,  which  everyone 
knew  applied  to  but  one  man,  and  that 
man  her  son.  I  could  fancy  the  woman 
asking  insolently,  at  the  close  of  her  des 
perate  performance,  if  any  one  could 
locate  the  "  Blond  Lothario "  of  the 
sensation,  feeling  absolutely  sure  that  no 
voice  would  answer. 


MARIPOSILLA.  25 

Such  was  Mrs.  Sanderson's  nerve, 
such  her  diabolical  vigor.  So  strong 
were  he*  restraining  influences,  and  so 
unflinching  her  power,  that  none  of  the 
social  squad  dared  to  confront  her  with 
her  lie.  It  was  not  until  weeks  after 
wards,  when  both  mother  and  son  had 
left  the  town,  that  tongues  were  loos 
ened  and  restricted  gossips  happy. 


CHAPTER  III. 

IT  has  appeared  wise  to  relate  at  once 
my  warranted  impression  of  Mrs.  San 
derson.  Having  failed  so  completely  in 
the  early  part  of  our  intimacy  to  pene 
trate  her  character,  I  offer  the  reader  an 
advantage;  and  that  the  events  which 
follow  may  be  better  understood,  I  have 
endeavored  to  make  plain  her  supreme 
selfishness. 

As  previously  stated,  it  was  she  who 
first  told  me  about  the  home  of  the  Del 
Valles.  The  year  before,  she  had  gone 
to  the  ranch  in  quest  of  the  exquisite 
drawn  work,  done  upon  the  finest  linen, 
for  which  the  Dona  Maria  was  famous; 
/and  so  charmed  had  the  lady  been  with 
the  recollection  of  the  picturesque  visit, 
that  she  hastened,  upon  her  return  to 
San  Gabriel,  to  renew  the  acquaintance. 

She  was  surprised  to  find  the  family 
much  less  prosperous  than  formerly,  and 
the  ranch  mortgaged  for  almost  its  value. 
The  proud  Dona  Maria  told  her,  with  quiet 

(26) 


MARIPOSILLA.  27 

tears,  how  all  was  wrong  ;  how  her  grand- 
nephew  Arturo  had  gone  to  Old  Mexico  to 
renew,  if  possible,  the  failing  fortunes  of 
his  family,  while  upon  her,  assisted  by  an 
idle  Mexican,  had  fallen  the  sole  responsi 
bility  of  the  ranch  ;  how  it  was  impossible 
not  to  neglect  many  things  now  that 
Arturo  was  gone,  for  her  aged  mother  was 
again  bad  with  the  old  spells,  and  soon 
must  make  a  great  care.  But  most  deplor 
able  of  all,  her  little  Mariposilla  was  grow 
ing  up  in  idleness,  caring  not  for  the  teach 
ings  of  the  good  Sisters  at  the  Convent, 
hating  persistently  the  drawn  work,  trying 
only  to  be  like  the  Americans  in  disobe 
dience  and  manners,  forgetting  each  day 
how  once  it  was  glorious  to  have  been  born 
a  Del  Valle.  The  result  of  these  confidences 
was  a  second  visit  from  Mrs.  Sanderson, 
this  time  accompanied  by  Sidney,  who  at 
once  suggested  the  ranch  as  a  home  for 
myself  and  Marjorie. 

Mrs.  Sanderson  had  captivated  the  Dona 
Maria  with  the  rest  of  us,  and  had  no 
difficulty  in  persuading  the  unfortunate 
woman  to  receive  us  into  her  household. 
She  dilated  with  her  usual  flow  upon  the 
mutual  advantages  of  the  arrangement, 


28  MARIPOSILLA. 

until  I  was  charmed  with  her  disinterested 
kindness.  Not  even  now  do  I  charge  the 
woman  with  a  premeditated  plot.  If  one 
existed  then,  it  existed  for  Sidney  alone  — 
the  shadow  of  a  foul  possibility.  Neither 
do  I  believe  that  Mrs.  Sanderson  cared  to 
befriend  either  the  Dona  Maria  Del  Valle 
or  myself. 

Our  residence  at  the  ranch  might  prove 
another  opportunity  for  enjoyment  during 
the  winter,  an  added  zest  to  the  California 
sojourn.  Picturesque  situations  were  the 
chief  articles  in  the  woman's  creed ;  to 
entertain  Sidney,  her  religion. 

She  was  so  supremely  worldly,  so  accus 
tomed  to  her  own  selfishness,  that  the 
possibility  of  harm,  developed  by  the 
franchise  of  pleasure,  was  not  considered 
in  her  schemes  for  entertainment.  She 
thought  it  natural  and  amusing  "  that  Sid 
should  flirt  with  the  pretty  Mariposilla," 
and  soon  played  herself,  with  the  emotions 
of  the  unsuspicious  child,  as  a  cat  would 
have  played  with  the  life  of  a  mouse. 

In  a  word,  when  Marjorie  and  I  had 
once  been  established  at  the  ranch  of  the 
Doiia  Maria  Del  Valle,  there  would  be  con 
stant  opportunities  for  pleasure,  mingled 


MARIPOSILLA.  29 

with  novelty.  If  the  hotel  grew  intoler 
able,  with  an  influx  of  stupid,  dissatisfied 
tourists,  the  ranch  might  prove  a  haven  in 
which  one  could  safely  linger,  sheltered 
from  the  interrogations  of  the  irrepressible 
"  tenderfoot."  Upon  the  shaded  veranda 
of  the  old  adobe,  fancy  work  could  be 
pleasantly  pursued,  or  one  could  simply 
idle  the  time,  which  in  Southern  California 
seems  without  limit,  surrounded  by  con 
genial  society  and  picturesque  associa 
tions. 

Thus  it  came  about  that,  believing  in 
the  generous  sympathy  of  my  new  friend, 
I  went  with  my  child  to  live  in  the  old 
Spanish  -home  of  the  Dona  Maria  Del 
Valle. 

Pervading  my  satisfaction  was  a  sincere 
admiration  for  the  woman  who  could 
arrange  so  readily  tiresome  details,  se 
questering  us,  almost  immediately  upon 
our  arrival  in  a  strange  country,  in  one  of 
the  fairest  spots  of  the  rare  San  Gabriel 
Valley. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  San  Gabriel  Valley,  in  December, 
is  pleasant  to  look  upon.  Not  as  winsome 
as  in  February,  when  the  Carnival  of  the 
year  is  born,  but  serenely  beautiful. 
Cleansing  rains  have  polished  every  ridge 
of  the  Sierra  Madre,  until  purple  canons 
shine  out  like  treasures  of  amethyst,  while 
clearly  defined  spurs,  shot  with  softest 
green,  reflect  the  promises  of  the  Spring. 

"  Old  Baldy, "  the  hoary  sire  of  the 
range,  gleams  like  a  high  priest.  To  the 
south,  shaggy  "  Gray  Back, "  and  still 
beyond,  San  Jacinto,  a  lone  fortress  of 
alabaster  on  a  turquoise  sea,  emphasize 
again  the  boundaries  of  the  horizon.  The 
misty  veil  of  the  long  summer  has  lifted, 
disclosing  an  unbroken  line  of  ravishing 
landscape.  Every  leaf  and  bud  in  the 
valley  breathes  with  fresh  lungs.  The 
meadow  lark,  tilting  upon  the  topmost  tip 
of  the  highest  pine,  sings  to  the  sky  a 
jubilate  in  three  pure  syllables.  Birds  are 
wooing  sweethearts  fearlessly,  for  now 

(30) 


MARIPOSILLA.  31 

time  must  not  be  lost,  and  home  sites 
must  be  secured  in  the  lacy  pepper  trees, 
before  the  poppies  cover  the  foothills,  or 
baby-blue-eyes  and  cream-cups  fringe  the 
roadsides. 

Everything  is  noisy  with  awakening 
life.  The  rich  earth  teems  with  ambitions. 
Volunteer  seeds  are  springing  enthusias 
tically  to  the  surface.  Timid  wild  flowers 
are  peeping  forth  each  day  to  test  the  pos 
sibilities  of  an  early  season,  heralded  even 
now  by  the  irrepressible  Al  Filerea,  which 
runs  riot  in  all  directions,  unconscious  of 
its  doom  when  the  plowman  invades  the 
land. 

Then  it  is  that  the  oranges  begin  to 
glow  like  gold  among  green  shadows,  and 
naked  deciduous  trees  to  flush  with  the 
faintest  pink  of  returning  life.  So  intoxi 
cating  is  the  air  that  the  saddest  invalid 
beams  with  renewed  hope,  almost  forget 
ting  his  burden  beneath  the  delicious  blue 
of  the  peaceful  sky. 

At  the  foot  of  the  Sierra  Madre  lies 
Pasadena — "Crown  of  the  Valley" — so 
named  from  its  imperial  situation.  An 
established  and  aristocratic  nucleus  for 
its  surrounding  towns,  few  places  are  so 


32  MARIPOSILLA. 

rich  in  conditions  to  palliate  or  allay  the 
sorrows  and  disappointments  of  the  usual 
life. 

South  of  this  beautiful  town,  where 
wealth  and  culture  have  displaced  the 
primitive  ranch,  ordaining  in  its  place 
extensive  villa  sites,  ornate  with  lawns  of 
blue  grass,  bordered  by  rose  gardens  and 
ornamental  shrubbery,  stretch  the  fer 
tile  acres  of  San  Gabriel.  Still  utilitarian 
in  their  scheme,  these  acres  comprise 
ranches  that  radiate  for  miles  in  all  direc 
tions  from  the  Old  Mission,  like  spokes 
from  an  antiquated  hub.  Close  to  the  old 
church  are  the  houses  and  stores  of  the 
once  thriving  village,  now,  alas !  dusky 
with  memories  of  the  Senora,  the  captivat 
ing  Senorita,  the  valiant  Don,  and  the 
watchful  Padre. 

Defenseless  in  its  degeneracy,  the  place 
now  boasts  a  motley  population  of  low 
bred  Mexicans  and  narrow-eyed  Celestials. 
Still,  when  the  old  Spanish  bells  call  to 
the  early  Sabbath  mass,  if  one  is  observ 
ing,  he  may  find  among  the  weather- 
beaten  countenances  of  the  Mexicans, 
often  marked  with  the  high  cheek  bone 
of  the  Indian,  true  descendants  of  the 


MARIPOSILLA.  33 

early  aristocracy,  holding  aloof  from  the 
horde,  absorbed  in  prayers,  that  alone 
are  the  same  since  the  ranches  were  ruth 
lessly  divided  and  railroads  allowed  to 
invade. 

Yet  the  Spanish  homes  that  remain  in 
the  valley  are  mere  echoes  of  former 
times,  but  tiny  specks  upon  the  map  of  the 
real  estate  dealer,  which  have  miracu 
lously  escaped  the  clutches  of  strangers. 
\  Although  humble,  a  few  of  these  homes 
are  strikingly  picturesque. 

On  a  retired  road,  sheltered  on  either 
side  by  mammoth  pepper  trees,  east  of 
the  Mission  by  several  miles,  lived  the 
Dona  Mafia  Del  Valle.  Her  little  ranch 
was  all  that  she  had  saved  from  her  hus 
band's  estate,  and  she  ever  scorned  its 
importance  when  she  told  indignantly  how 
her  husband's  father  had  once  held  a 
splendid  principality  comprising  four 
thousand  acres. 

';  Now,  alas !  we  own  nothing,"  she 
said,  resting,  a  moment,  her  dark  hands 
from  their  incessant  labor  at  the  exquisite 
drawn  work.  "  My  child  will  be  always 
poor,  she  will  grow  like  the  Americans, 
,'aring  not  for  the  past.  It  is  cruel  indeed 


34  MARIPOSILLA. 

that  she  saw  not  her  noble  father  Don 
Arturo.  Had  he  but  lived,  with  his  learn 
ing  and  accomplishments,  his  child  would 
rejoice  that  she  was  born  a  Del  Valle  ! 
Now  she  listens  not  patiently  to  the  tale 
of  former  days,  for  in  the  Convent  she  has 
met  American  girls,  and  thinks  only  to 
imitate  them,  hoping  to  gain  for  herself  a 
strange  husband  who  loves  not  her  people. 
Our  dear  Arturo  she  scorns  !  driving  him 
far  away  by  her  wicked  disobedience  ;  for 
when  she  laughed  at  his  love  he  could  no 
longer  endure  to  behold  her." 

Unhappy  indeed  was  the  Dona  Maria 
when  indulging  in  such  confidences;  but 
not  often  did  she  speak  of  her  troubles, 
for  so  poor  had  the  family  become,  that, 
to  support  her  aged  mother  and  the  pretty 
Mariposilla,  she  was  compelled  to  work 
constantly  at  the  drawn  work,  learned  in 
her  youth  as  a  pastime,  now,  alas  !  one  of 
her  chief  sources  of  revenue. 

It  was  owing  to  her  reduced  circum 
stances  that  the  proud  Dona  Maria  had 
received  under  her  roof  Marjorie  and 
myself,  for  she  loved  not  the  Americans; 
but,  as  she  told  me  artlessly  one  day,  "  Only 
the  Americans  now  have  gold. 


MARIPOSILLA.  35 

"  Once  it  was  not  so.  We,  too,  had  gold 
in  abundance,  but  we  loved  not  our  gold 
as  the  Americans  love  theirs,  to  keep  in 
the  bank.  We  loved  gold  because  it  gave 
us  joy  to  buy  land,  and  cattle,  and  jewels, 
and  lace." 

Yes,  it  was  simply  for  our  gold  that 
Marjorie  and  I  had  been  received  under 
the  roof  of  the  Del  Valles.  Still,  when 
once  the  arrangement  had  been  entered 
upon,  the  Dona  Maria  was  all  that  we 
could  desire  as  a  hostess. 

Marjorie  stole  each  hour  into  the  hearts 
of  the  old  grandmother  and  the  proud  dis 
appointed  daughter,  aging  so  fast  under 
stress  of "  multiplied  troubles,  that  she 
needed  just  such  an  appealing  interest  as 
my  delicate  child  to  call  into  action  the 
unselfish  side  of  her  noble  nature.  Before 
we  had  lived  long  at  the  ranch  our  lives 
were  running  together  as  smoothly  as  if 
we  all  rejoiced  in  the  same  blood. 

The  house  of  the  Dona  Maria  Del  Valle 
was  not  the  original  ranch  house,  but  a 
smaller  adobe,  built  after  many  of  the 
broad  acres  had  been  bartered  away  by 
the  taking  of  imperfect  securities,  the 
worthlessness  of  which  the  happy-go-lucky 


36  MARIPOSILLA. 

owners  had  failed  to  comprehend  until  too 
late  to  obviate  the  consequences. 

"We  understood  not  the  laws  and  the 
papers  of  the  Americans,"  the  Dona 
Maria  explained,  as  we  sat,  one  sunshiny 
morning,  upon  the  sheltered  veranda. 
"  One  day  we  owned  all  the  land  in  the 
valley  for  many  miles,  the  next  day  we 
owned  not  so  much,  and  at  last  only  the 
little  that  is  left." 

To  me,  the  fifteen  remaining  acres 
appeared  most  desirable,  for  I  was  not 
then  versed  in  the  matter  of  fruit  culture. 
I  did  not  understand  that  orange  trees 
differ  one  from  another  in  point  of  perfec 
tion  as  widely  as  do  people. 

It  was  some  time  before  I  learned  that  in 
the  early  settlement  of  the  valley  disas 
trous  experiments  had  been  made.  Many 
of  the  first  trees  planted  had  yielded  an 
inferior  variety  of  fruit,  not  lucrative  in  a 
market  each  year  growing  more  critical, 
as  the  country  became  settled  by  deter 
mined  agriculturists,  who  possessed,  not 
only  cash  capital,  but  brains  stimulated  by 
college  education  and  practical  experience. 
Such  men  soon  discovered  that  it  was  un 
profitable  to  irrigate  or  nurture  for  long  a 


MARIPOSILLA.  37 

tree  that  was  not  all   that  a  tree  of   its 
kind  should  be. 

Consequently  there  had  been  frequent 
upheavals  of  earth;  many  old  orchards 
were  regarded  by  the  experienced  as 
worthless,  the  owners  preferring  to  replant 
with  the  best  varieties  of  budded  trees, 
even  though  a  considerable  time  must 
elapse  before  a  revenue  would  result. 
Unfortunately,  the  orange  ranch  of  the 
Dona  Maria  Del  Valle  was  a  poor  one. 
It  was  planted  with  a  flavorless  variety  of 
seedling,  which  yielded  an  income  quite 
insufficient  for  the  demands  of  the  family. 
From  an  aesthetic  point  of  view  the  grove 
appeared  the  Garden  of  the  Hesperides. 
The  staunch,  far-reaching  limbs  of  the  old 
trees  drooped  opulently  beneath  the  golden 
balls  that  invited  the  "  Forty  Thieves," 
who,  happening  to  be  "tenderfeet,"  ate 
with  wry  faces  and  discourteous  exclama 
tions  the  fruit  that  a  native  would  have 
scorned  to  touch.  For  in  California  or 
anges  are  not  ripe  in  December.  Not 
until  the  late  spring,  when  the  sun  has 
used  persistently  his  winsome  induce 
ments,  does  the  fruit  consent  to  assume 
its  luscious  perfection. 


38  MARIPOSILLA. 

Turning  from  the  highway,  the  ranch 
of  the  Dona  Maria  Del  Valle  was  entered 
from  between  two  mammoth  century 
plants,  whose  giant  spears  made  formid 
able  the  approach  to  the  long  avenue 
leading  to  the  house.  The  drive  was 
shaded  by  gnarled  old  pepper  trees,  unit 
ing  from  each  side  their  fantastic  branches 
to  form  an  elfin  tunnel  of  lacy  shade.  On 
the  ground,  thickly  scattered,  lay  dartlike 
leaves,  and  scarlet  berries  shading  from 
rich  to  pale,  until  a  long  oriental  rug 
seemed  spread  for  the  court  of  an  ex 
pected  princess. 

At  the  end  of  the  Avenue  stood  the  low 
adobe,  covered  with  ivy  and  the  famous 
Gold  of  Ophir  rose,  which  at  Easter  illu 
minated  the  veranda  and  roof  with  the 
lights  and  shadows  of  forty  thousand 
blooms.  Not  far  from  the  house  two 
giant  palms — honored  patriarchs  of  the 
valley  —  reared  their  trembling  feathers 
to  the  sky.  Like  grim  sentinels,  true  to  a 
trust,  they  guarded  in  dumb  eloquence 
the  story  of  the  past. 

Before  reaching  the  house  the  drive 
divided,  encircling  within  the  arms  of  its 
curve  a  soft  oval  cushion  of  Bermuda 


MARIPOSILLA.  39 

grass  that  in  December  is  brown  and  un 
promising,  but  in  the  spring  grows  gre  en 
remaining  so  through  the  long  summer, 
making  no  imperative  demand  for  water, 
and  being  at  all  seasons  as  soft  to  the  feet 
as  the  most  luxurious  rug.  It  is  the  grass 
created  for  the  invalid.  He  alone  appre 
ciates  the  thick,  delicious  mat,  which 
hoards  for  his  bloodless  feet  thousands  of 
warm  sunbeams  that  cheat  his  physician 
into  the  belief  that  he  is  eminent,  when 
he  discovers  his  patient  escaping  his  pro 
fessional  clutches. 

Added  to  the  tropical  effect  of  full- 
grown  palms  and  riotous  shrubbery,  the 
guardian  Sierra  Madre  was  ever  flashing 
rich  shadows  and  tender  patches  of  light, 
that,  in  the  clear,  prismatic  air,  reflected 
countless  expressions  into  the  hearts  of 
the  flowers  and  onto  the  surface  of  the 
leaves. 

Such  was  the  home  of  the  Dona  Maria 
Del  Valle.  Here  Mariposilla  had  been 
born,  sixteen  years  before,  five  months 
after  the  death  of  her  father,  Don  Arturo. 


CHAPTER  V. 

EACH  year,  when  the  Gold  of  Ophir 
illuminates  the  valley  with  its  passionate 
bloom,  I  think  of  Mariposilla.  Under  the 
spell  of  the  transient  radiance  of  the  rose, 
her  beauty  comes  to  me  like  a  lovely 
dream.  The  flashing  lights  and  subtile 
shades  of  the  marvelous  flower  seem  to 
communicate  a  wild  sensation  of  the 
child's  presence;  for  ever  since  I  first 
beheld  her  close  to  the  rose,  there  has 
been  in  my  mind  a  fancy  that  between 
these  two  children  of  the  valley  there 
existed  a  bond,  an  almost  supernatural  kin 
ship,  that  betrayed  itself  with  each  quiver 
of  the  atmosphere. 

So  impressed  I  became  with  the  idea, 
that  I  unconsciously  sought  for  Maripo- 
silla's  mood  in  the  changing  color  of  the 
rose.  During  the  eventful  weeks  of  which 
I  shall  write,  when  the  rose  and  the  girl 
began  and  finished  their  one  exciting 
drama,  bursting  together  into  fullest  per 
fection,  I  found  myself  associating  them 

(40) 


MARIPOSILLA.  41 

constantly  in  my  thoughts.  So  essential 
each  appeared  to  the  other,  that  when 
Mariposilla  stood  beneath  the  Gold  of 
Ophir  she  seemed  to  absorb  its  every  tint, 
while  at  the  same  time  its  golden  sprays 
glowed  with  the  effulgence  of  her  glori 
ous  proximity.  Their  harmony  appeared 
perfect,  their  united  beauty  the  personifi 
cation  of  carnal  and  ethereal  blending. 
When  the  sun  shone  early,  with  no  rebuff 
from  the  occasional  fog,  thousands  of  buds 
and  blossoms  bloomed  upon  the  somber 
adobe,  and  even  while  one  looked,  inde 
scribable  tones  of  gold,  and  pink,  and  yel 
low  appeared  to  creep  from  the  passionate 
hearts  of  "the  buds  onto  the  glorified  edges 
of  the  full-blown  flowers.  Then,  too,  Mar 
iposilla  dazzled.  Her  very  being  flashed 
with  a  phosphorescence  akin  to  nothing 
human,  but  so  like  the  luster  of  the  rose 
that  each  must  have  been  created  that  the 
other  might  bloom.  Both  seemed  children 
of  the  sun,  entrusted  with  opalescent 
secrets  that  nothing  but  his  rays  could 
reveal;  for,  if  the  day  grew  chill,  both 
Mariposilla  and  the  Gold  of  Ophir  paled. 
The  fire  left  the  edges  of  the  rose  petals, 
and  the  blood  retreated  from  the  surface  of 


42  MARIPOSILLA. 

the  girl's  creamy  flesh.  Her  great  luminous 
eyes  grew  dull,  as  she  sought  listlessly  her 
neglected  lace  frame,  drawing  silently  the 
threads  of  the  linen,  ignoring  the  whin 
ing  questions  of  her  old  grandmother, 
completely  lost  in  the  indifference  of  her 
mood. 

Or  perhaps,  disregarding  the  commands 
of  her  mother,  she  tossed  aside  the  lace 
frame  and  crept  into  a  silent  corner  of 
the  room  to  play  upon  her  guitar  wild, 
turbulent  music,  until  the  Dona  Maria, 
angry  and  impatient,  commanded  her  to 
finish  at  once  the  altar  cloth  ordered 
months  before  by  the  lady  from  Pasa 
dena.  At  the  same  time  she  bade  her 
mind  with  care  to  cross  herself  at  the 
little  Jesus  stitch,  else  a  curse  would  come 
upon  them  all. 

Even  yet  I  dread  to  think  of  this  strange 
child  out  of  the  sunshine.  I  would  always 
have  kept  her  under  the  influence  of  sooth 
ing  warmth.  Mariposilla  —  little  butter 
fly —  how  well  she  idealized  her  name. 
Born  of  the  sun  and  for  the  sun,  no  real 
butterfly  ever  rivaled  her.  Why  could  I 
not  protect  her  passionate,  capricious  young 
heart,  as  the  flowers  enfold  at  night  the 


MARIPOSILLA.  43 

dazzling,  thoughtless  beauties  of  a  sum 
mer's  day?  Alas !  destiny  seemed  kinder 
to  the  insect  than  to  the  child. 

Viewing  in  retrospect  the  girl's  rapid 
and  eventful  development,  I  now  remem 
ber  vividly  each  incident  in  her  little  his 
tory.  When  she  came  into  my  life  like  a 
picturesque  plaything,  I  failed  to  realize 
that  she  was  other  than  a  beautiful  child. 
I  was  then  totally  ignorant  from  exper 
ience  of  the  premature  blooming  of  Span 
ish  girls.  From  history  I  knew  that  they 
developed  young ;  but  history  is  easily  for 
gotten.  It  was  natural  to  expect  Mari- 
posilla  to  pursue  the  same  pace  that  once 
upon  a  time  I  had  taken  myself.  We  are 
all  miserable  egotists,  without  realizing 
the  weakness  ;  and  I  fell  at  once  into  the 
fallacy  of  believing  that  all  girls  develop 
in  the  same  way.  Mariposilla  was  only 
sixteen,  and  at  sixteen  most  girls  are 
children.  I  recalled  my  own  blushes,  as  I 
remembered  drawing-room  miseries  to 
which  I  was  at  that  age  subjected.  When 
my  grown  brothers  insisted  upon  present 
ing  me  to  college  chums,  I  flew  at  my 
earliest  opportunity  from  the  ordeal, 
cheered  by  the  thought  of  a  toboggan  slide 


44  MARIPOSILLA. 

with  my  nice  boy  beau.  Yes,  I  had  a  boy 
beau,  who  was  truly  delightful.  It  was 
only  when  he  went  away  to  college  that 
I  ceased  to  care  for  him,  and  bestowed 
my  smiles  upon  a  new  flame  across  the 
way,  who  was  yet  a  boy.  At  sixteen  I 
regarded  men  as  formidable  creatures, 
to  be  encountered  when  school  days  were 
over,  and  childhood  had  come  to  an  end. 
When  I  heard  later  that  my  gay  Fresh 
man  smoked !  and  was  engaged  to  a 
young  woman  of  his  college  town,  six 
years  his  senior,  I  wondered  how  I  had 
ever  consented  to  sit  upon  a  sled  with  such 
a  monster.  At  sixteen  my  ideas  of  love 
were  as  vague  as  they  were  wholesome. 
In  my  young  healthiness  I  doubted  seri 
ously  if  any  girl  ever  died  for  love  outside 
of  a  book.  Thus  recalling  my  own  girl 
hood,  I  at  first  felt  no  misgivings  in  expos 
ing  Mariposilla  to  the  apparently  innocent 
attentions  of  Mr.  Sidney  Sanderson,  es 
pecially  as  his  mother  and  myself  were 
always  about.  It  seemed  only  sensible  to 
believe  that  the  Spanish  child  would  re 
ceive  real  benefit  from  her  new  associa 
tions.  I  did  not  realize  the  narrow  boun 
daries  of  her  young  life,  nor  did  I  then 


MARIPOSILLA.  45 

understand  how  she  adored  Americans, 
whom  she  regarded  as  models  of  refine 
ment  and  wisdom.  When  the  Dona  Maria 
told  me  of  her  grandnephew's  love  for  her 
daughter  I  felt  it  an  outrage  that  so  young 
a  girl  should  have  been  spoken  to  about 
marriage. 

I  was  secretly  glad  that  Mariposilla  had 
repulsed  her  second  cousin,  and  I  could 
not  cease  to  wonder  why  the  Dona  Maria, 
so  sensible  in  most  respects,  should  desire 
her  only  child  to  accept  at  sixteen  the  only 
man  she  had  ever  known.  It  delighted 
me  to  believe  that  Mariposilla  found  full 
enjoyment  in  the  society  of  Marjorie. 
They  were  great  friends,  and  at  times 
Marjorie  seemed  almost  as  mature  as  the 
older  girl.  Each  day  they  played  with  the 
hounds  upon  the  Bermuda  grass,  as  happy 
and  free  from  responsibility  as  the  dogs. 
Thus  time  slipped  away.  Peace  and  con 
tentment  filled  our  lives,  while  my  child 
and  her  Spanish  playmate  rivaled  each  day 
in  healthy  beauty  the  roses,  now  respond 
ing  to  the  first  welcome  rains. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

As  CHRISTMAS  approached,  I  found  my 
self  anticipating  the  festal  time  with  a 
restored  interest  as  keen  as  the  feigned 
enthusiasms  of  the  previous  holiday  season 
had  been  unbearable.  But  three  weeks 
remained  of  the  old  year,  and  already  the 
new  one  seemed  full  of  promises. 

As  I  watched  Marjorie  and  Mariposilla 
romp  like  kittens  upon  the  Bermuda  grass, 
I  wondered  if  my  heart  could  ever  ache 
again  with  the  old,  tiresome  pain.  The 
morning  was  glorious,  and  I  felt  myself 
buoyed  above  my  most  ardent  hopes. 
Our  new  life  was  an  elixir,  that  drove 
away  sad  thoughts,  while  it  invited  pleas 
ant  memories.  Nature  had  aroused  once 
more  my  sluggish  sympathies,  until  I  com 
plied  eagerly  with  all  of  her  coaxing  de 
mands.  When  her  trees  swayed,  their 
quiet  motion  lulled  me.  If  her  birds 
talked,  I  understood  their  pleasant  assur 
ances.  With  the  sun  rose  my  heart.  When 
it  sank  slowly  to  rest,  I  waited  for  its 

(46) 


MARIPOSILLA.  47 

good-night  promise  upon  the  mountains, 
and  when  they  flushed  rosiest,  I,  too. 
glowed  with  a  rapturous  trust. 

With  Marjorie  asleep  in  my  arms,  I 
heard  my  father  calling  dear  names  to  his 
own  little  girl.  I  felt  my  mother  braid 
my  hair,  and  saw  her  smile  at  my  fresh 
blue  ribbons.  Two  handsome  brothers 
teased  me  about  the  new  lover,  who  had 
driven  away  the  other  beaux.  And  then 
I  felt  again  upon  my  lips  this  lover's  first 
true  kiss.  When  my  child  laughed  in  her 
sleep  I  laid  her  gently  down,  and  lived  once 
more  the  short,  sweet  romance  of  my  life. 

Each  day  I  was  learning  to  go  alone, 
gradually  attaining  the  composure  of  one 
who  has  survived  a  shock,  realizing  at  last 
the  odds  of  destiny,  and  the  necessity  of 
making  much  of  comfortable  opportun 
ities. 

I  am  describing  my  feelings,  not  that  I 
wish  to  write  about  myself,  but  in  order 
that  I  may  be  pardoned  if  later  some  may 
blame  me  for  lack  of  perception.  If  I  was 
beguiled  into  unsuspiciousness  by  the 
peace  of  my  new  life,  I  should  be  forgiven, 
for  at  that  time  God's  whole  creation 
seemed  as  good  as  in  the  beginning. 


48  MARIPOSILLA. 

Christmas  was  coming,  I  have  said,  and 
Marjorie  was  wild  with  expectation.  I 
could  hear  her  merry  treble  entreating 
Mariposilla  to  tell  how  Santa  Claus 
could  ever  come  to  Calif ornia,  where  there 
was  no  snow,  except  upon  the  tops  of  the 
mountains. 

When  the  Spanish  girl  failed  to  ex 
plain,  the  child  grew  flushed  and  excited. 
Marjorie's  vivid  imagination  was  tem 
pered  by  a  rational  appreciation  of  con 
sistency,  and  she  declared  indignantly 
that  Santa  Claus  always  traveled  in  a 
sleigh.  Without  snow  the  reindeer  would 
have  a  difficult  time,  and  she  was  patheti 
cally  certain  that  her  stocking  would  be 
quite  empty  upon  Christmas  morning. 
The  little  girl  was  a  stubborn  logician. 
The  form  of  her  infantile  dictum  was  often 
mixed,  but  her  mother  generally  perceived 
her  difficulties,  and  drew  from  sadly-mud 
dled  premises  conclusions  that  were  en 
tirely  satisfactory  to  both.  In  the  existing 
case  she  had  foreseen  the  burst  of  skepti 
cism  that  was  now  distressing  the  child, 
and  was  well  prepared  to  confute  her 
troublesome  doubts.  "  Listen,"  she  said, 
"  and  I  will  explain. 


MARIPOSILLA.  49 

"  Mariposilla  ought  to  know  that  when 
Santa  Glaus  comes  to  Southern  Califor 
nia  he  always  lives  upon  the  top  of 
'  Old  Baldy.'  The  beautiful  valley  is  too 
warm  for  him.  So  each  year  he  builds 
a  snow  house  upon  the  mountain,  and, 
with  his  pipe  and  reindeer  for  company, 
he  works  merrily  at  the  toys  which  he 
so  skillfully  fashions  for  the  children  of 
the  far  West.  When  his  loving  labor  is 
completed,  he  packs  the  wonderful  presents 
into  a  huge  sleigh,  and  at  twelve  o'clock 
of  the  night  before  Christmas,  he  feeds 
his  reindeer,  and  hitches  them  to  the 
great  sledge.  When  the  children  of  the 
peaceful  valleys  are  fast  asleep,  the  dear 
old  Saint  drives  gaily  down  the  steep, 
white  side  of  the  great  mountain.  At  its 
foot  he  blows  a  long,  shrill  whistle,  and 
from  the  many  canons  of  the  range 
come  the  fairies.  The  happy  little  peo 
ple  dearly  love  to  be  useful.  They  have 
the  greatest  affection  for  Santa  Claus, 
and  they  tell  him  truthfully  about  all 
of  his  boys  and  girls;  reporting  both 
good  and  naughty  ones.  But  most  ten 
derly  do  the  fairies  tell  of  the  little 
sick  children  who  have  come  from  far- 
4 


\ 


50  MARIPOSILLA. 

away  homes  in  the  East  to  seek  for 
health  in  the  land  of  sunshine.  When 
the  kind  Saint  is  sure  that  no  child 
has  been  forgotten,  he  commands  the 
fairies  to  finish  his  loving  work.  He 
can  go  no  farther  with  the  reindeer,  and 
so  he  intrusts  his  beautiful  gifts  to  the 
willing  little  helpers,  who  have  swarmed 
at  his  call.  And  now,  at  the  bidding  of 
the  Fairy  Queen,  thousands  of  lily  char 
iots,  drawn  by  dashing  teams  of  bumble 
bees,  form  in  long  lines  upon  the  foot 
hills.  The  white  chariots,  with  their 
yellow  daisy  wheels,  are  a  wonderful 
sight  in  the  early  daylight. 

"  Each  one  has  a  fairy  driver,  dressed 
in  a  Christmas  suit,  made  from  the 
petals  of  a  Marechal  Neil  rose.  When 
the  chariots  are  at  last  loaded  to  their 
fullest  capacity  with  the  precious  toys, 
old  Santa  Claus  gives  the  signal  to 
start.  Then  the  happy  drivers  spring 
upon  their  high,  yellow  seats  in  the  cen 
ter  of  the  chariots.  Gripping  firmly  a 
long  lash  of  blue  grass,  each  little  fellow 
waves  farewell  to  dear  Santa  Claus,  who 
has  already  started  up  the  mountain, 
satisfied  and  happy  that  his  holiday 


MARIPOSILLA.  61 

work  is  done.  Not  until  another  Christ 
mas  will  the  valleys  feel  the  loving  pres 
ence  of  the  kind  old  Saint,  for  when  the 
sun  and  the  birds  have  awakened  his 
children  he  will  be  far  away.  But  his 
beautiful  gifts  will  be  hanging  upon  the 
great,  white  rose-trees  —  the  Christmas 
trees  of  our  summer  land." 

When  I  had  finished  Marjorie  clapped 
her  hands  and  exclaimed  with  delight, 
but  Mariposilla  said  nothing.  She  was 
silently  eloquent  for  several  moments, 
until,  suddenly  remembering  that  she 
ought  to  acknowledge  genius,  she  kissed 
me  gently  upon  the  cheek,  much  as  she 
would  have  kissed  the  wooden  image  of 
the  Virgin  that  stood  in  the  Dona  Maria's 
bedroom.  Looking  down  into  my  face 
with  her  great,  beautiful  eyes,  she  said, 
almost  reverently:  "The  Senora  knows 
much;  she  is  a  great  and  wise  Ameri 
cana;  I  love  her  with  great  love." 

Mariposilla  had  never  before  addressed 
me  in  the  quaint,  affectionate  style  of 
her  anglicized  tongue,  and  as  I  caught 
her  in  my  arms,  laughing  at  the  sweet, 
sober  compliment,  I  told  her  how  I 
would  always  treasure  it  for  her  sake  — 


62  MARIPOSILLA. 

the  most  delightful  praise  I  had  ever 
received. 

I  remember  it  was  about  this  time 
that  I  first  became  aware  of  the  girl's 
rare  beauty.  Suddenly  she  seemed  to 
have  commenced  to  mature,  and  her 
radiance  startled  me.  I  wondered  then 
if  such  ravishing  charms  were  to  be 
desired,  for  it  seemed  hardly  possible 
that  she  would  be  contented  with  her 
available  destiny. 

I  had  already  seen  that  her  thoughts 
were  not  with  her  countryman  and  kins 
man,  Arturo,  but  remote,  engaged  with 
intangible  dreams  of  she  knew  not  what. 
I  could  not  refuse  to  see,  at  times,  in  her 
restless,  unsatisfied  expression,  that  she 
had  outgrown  the  customs  and  associa 
tions  of  her  race.  I  saw  that  she  was  con 
sumed  with  admiration  for  Americans,  at 
tempting  their  fashions  and  manners  with 
a  determination  almost  pathetic. 

When  the  Sandersons  came  to  the  ranch, 
and  we  sat  upon  the  veranda  chatting  in 
the  effervescent  style  of  our  Republic, 
Mariposilla  listened  like  a  charmed  bird, 
especially  if  Mrs.  Sanderson  chanced  to 
relate  a  story  replete  with  inimitable 


MARIPOSILLA.  53 

shades  and  mannerisms.  I  am  certain 
that  the  lady  herself  realized  and  exerted 
unduly  her  magnetism  upon  the  unsophis 
ticated  girl.  I  often  noticed  her  regard 
ing  with  complacent  amusement  the  wor 
shipful  expression  upon  Mariposilla's  face. 
Sometimes  she  would  abruptly  summon 
her  to  her  side,  while  she  touched  the 
dark  head  with  her  beautiful  jeweled 
hand.  Perhaps  she  called  her  a  pretty 
name  ;  or  possibly  joked  her  about  her 
faith  in  the  good  stories  of  the  great 
Americanos,  until  the  child's  cheeks  grew 
opalescent  with  happy  embarrassment. 
Then,  before  the  lovely  tints  had  paled,  she 
would  send  her  away  for  a  glass  of  water 
from  the  deep  red  olla,  or  for  a  rose  from 
a  bush  indicated  by  her  fancy. 

I  remember  that  upon  this  particular 
morning  I  was  troubling  indirectly  about 
Mariposilla,  thinking  that  perhaps  her 
daily  association  with  Sidney  might  not 
be  for  the  best.  I  had  not  then  dreamed 
of  inhuman  exertions  on  the  part  of  the 
Sandersons  to  entrap  the  child.  I  simply 
wondered  if  we  were  wise  to  expose  the 
beautiful^  immature  girl  to  the  constant, 


54  MARIPOSILLA. 

flattering  attentions  of  an  impossible 
young  man. 

I  remember  that  I  decided  to  tell  her,  at 
my  earliest  opportunity,  that  Sidney  was 
destined  to  marry  a  New  York  heiress. 
However,  as  soon  as  the  thought  had 
taken  shape  in  my  mind,  I  felt  indignant 
for  imagining  possibilities  disagreeable 
enough  to  disturb  the  peace  of  our  pleas 
ant  social  conditions.  I  said  to  myself 
that  Mariposilla  was  still  a  child,  often 
the  satisfied  playmate  of  Marjorie.  It 
would  be  easy,  I  was  sure,  to  observe  the 
slightest  vibration  in  the  direction  of  a 
love  affair. 

The  Dona  Maria  had  assured  me  that 
her  child  was  hard  of  heart,  ever  scorning 
the  devotion  of  lovers.  Altogether  I  felt 
a  ridiculous  prude  when  the  gay  trap  of 
the  Sandersons  suddenly  dashed  into  the 
avenue. 

Sidney  was  driving  the  spirited  team, 
with  his  mother  behind  him,  luxuriously 
wrapped  for  the  December  morning. 

At  the  first  sound  of  the  horses'  hoofs 
upon  the  driveway,  Mariposilla  vanished. 
I  could  see  at  a  glance,  upon  her  return, 
that  she  had  been  before  the  little  mirror 


MARIPOSILLA.  56 

in  her  bedroom,  for  the  betumbled  appear 
ance  occasioned  by  her  romp  with  Mar- 
jorie  had  disappeared ;  likewise  she  had 
embellished  her  scarlet  frock  with  a  little 
black  velvet  girdle  that  emphasized  the 
costume  with  an  irresistible  touch  of 
Spain. 

I  perceived  that  Sidney  was  unmistak 
ably  pleased  with  the  child's  appearance  ; 
but  I  could  not  consistently  blame  him 
for  our  common  crime,  for  never  before 
had  I  been  so  impressed  with  the  superb 
type  of  Mariposilla's  beauty. 

Mrs.  Sanderson  was  most  winning.  She 
had  come,  she  said,  in  search  of  good  com 
pany  for  a  drive.  She  was  going  to  Pasa 
dena  for  two  yards  of  yellow  ribbon.  Was 
it  not  absolutely  delightful  to  drive  eight 
miles  for  a  couple  of  yards  of  ribbon? 
Such  irresponsible  pleasure  made  one 
scorn  philanthropy.  Why  should  one  de 
sire  to  reconcile  happy  Hottentots  to  Par 
isian  costume  ?  Why  be  perpetually 
annoyed  with  grave  and  difficult  ques 
tions,  when  all  could  be  easily  dismissed 
in  a  drive  after  ribbon  ?  She  lamented 
that  she  had  not  come  to  San  Gabriel 
years  ago,  before  there  was  so  little  to  pro- 


56  MARIPOSILLA. 

long.  She  was  sure  native  Californians 
were  born  without  nerves.  It  rested  her 
more  than  a  whole  year  at  a  sanitarium 
to  look  at  Mariposilla.  What  a  perfect 
beauty  she  was,  this  minute,  in  her  red 
frock.  She  must  gain  at  once  the  Dona 
Maria's  consent  and  come  for  a  drive. 
All  must  make  haste,  for  it  was  criminal 
to  lose  one  moment  of  the  morning. 

Mariposilla,  as  usual,  had  stood  uncon 
sciously  enthralled  by  Mrs.  Sanderson's 
wonderful  personality.  The  child  had  not 
understood  the  lady's  ironic  sallies,  but  the 
invitation  to  drive  had  been  plain. 

Instantly  the  absent,  incomprehensible 
look  fled  from  her  eyes  ;  they  seemed  sud 
denly  bathed  in  lambent  joy,  while  an  emo 
tional  radiance  enveloped  her  form.  Re 
sembling  the  beautiful  little  creature  after 
,v  v  which  she  had  been  named,  she  appeared 
to  dart  through  the  sunshine,  then  to  van 
ish  in  the  doorway  of  the  somber  adobe, 
like  a  lost  meteor.  Her  marvelous,  un 
studied  motions  seemed  the  reflection  of 
fickle  twilight. 

"  Will  she  come  back  ?  or  has  she  flown 
forever  into  an  old  legend  of  Spain?" 
Mrs.  Sanderson  demanded,  tragically. 


MARIPOSILLA.  57 

"She  will  return  as  demure  as  a  novi 
tiate,"  I  replied. 

A  few  moments  later  the  truth  of  the 
statement  was  verified.  The  girl's  first 
intense  emotions  had  been  forcibly 
quieted  by  her  desire  to  be  thought  con 
ventional.  When  she  reappeared,  pre 
pared  for  the  drive,  she  walked  slowly, 
almost  stiffly  —  "  like  a  lady,"  the  Sisters  at 
the  Convent  would  have  said. 

She  had  donned  a  black  jacket,  that  was 
fortunately  too  small  and  obliged  to  flare, 
exposing  the  little  velvet  girdle  and  a 
dash  of  scarlet  that  emulated  coquettishly 
the  breast  of  a  robin.  Her  hair  was  care 
fully  twisted  into  a  girlish  coil,  while  upon 
her  head  she  wore  a  large,  picturesque 
black  hat. 

During  the  drive  to  Pasadena  she  was 
ecstatically  solemn,  and  it  was  only  when 
she  turned  her  profile  to  reply  almost  in 
monosyllables  to  the  ingenious  questions 
of  Sidney  that  I  discovered  how  happy 
she  was.  Her  cheeks  had  again  assumed 
wonderful  tints,  occasioned  by  a  renewed 
realization  of  her  exalted  privileges,  and  I 
could  see  that  she  was  flattered  beyond 
her  most  daring  expectation.  Sidney, 


58  MARIPOSILLA. 

usually  so  reticent,  had  suddenly  mad 
dened  into  an  animated  inquisitor.  I  ob 
served  that  he  never  allowed  his  eyes  to 
leave  the  girl's  face,  when  she  replied 
modestly  to  his  volley  of  direct  ques 
tions. 

Necessarily,  these  recollections  have 
now  come  back  to  me  slightly  embellished 
by  the  events  which  quickly  followed  this 
initial  drive.  It  must  have  been  a  com 
prehension  of  the  common  failure  to  note 
the  signs  of  a  disaster  in  time  to  obviate 
it,  which  led  the  ecclesiastical  composers 
to  insert  in  the  general  confession  of  the 
Prayer  Book  the  clause  in  which  the  sin 
ner  bewails  not  only  his  actually  com 
mitted  sins,  but  his  passive  criminalities, 
born  of  neglect. 

My  conscience  will  ever  ache  with  the 
knowledge  of  "  things  left  undone  "  for 
Mariposilla.  I  know  now  that  I  should 
have  explained  more  decidedly  to  the  child 
the  impassable  width  of  the  social  gulf, 
even  at  the  risk  of  her  loving  me  less.  I 
should  have  protected  her  against  herself, 
by  showing  her  the  truth  without  pallia 
tion.  I  should  have  told  her  how  fraudu 
lent  and  glittering  are  the  attentions  of 


MARIPOSILLA.  59 

fashionable  men,  and  warned  her  against 
the  cruel  disappointments  of  society. 

Doubtless  the  child  would  have  disre 
garded  my  wisdom,  for  wilful,  rapturous 
youth  is  slow  to  accept  experience  second 
hand.  At  the  time,  it  appeared  only  right 
and  natural  that  Mariposilla  should  take 
part  in  our  daily  pleasures,  while,  in  jus 
tice  to  myself,  it  did  not  occur  to  me  to 
doubt  the  good  intentions  of  the  Sander 
sons,  until  too  late  to  overcome  the  com 
plications  which  arose  by  degrees  from 
our  general  intimacy. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

IT  was  impossible  for  me  to  resist  my 
impulses  as  we  dashed  through  the  sun 
shine.  To  be  absolved  from  every  re 
sponsibility  as  I  breathed  with  joy  the 
vigorous,  sedative  air — a  mingled  fresh 
ness  of  May  and  October — had  intoxicated 
my  nerves.  Unconsciously  I  allowed  sen 
timents  to  escape,  which  I  usually  re 
strained  when  in  the  society  of  the  bril 
liant  cynic  by  my  side. 

It  seemed  impossible  that  the  most 
hardened  wretch  could  be  capable  of  crim 
inality  upon  such  a  divine  morning  ;  and  I 
enthusiastically  aired  my  moral  philos 
ophy,  much  to  the  amusement  of  Mrs. 
Sanderson,  who  jestingly  replied,  as  we 
turned  from  a  long  avenue  into  the  prin 
cipal  business  street  of  Pasadena  —  "As 
usual,  my  dear,  you  have  caught  entirely 
the  local  spirit  of  your  environments.  I  am 
told  that  the  millennium  has  already  begun 
in  Pasadena,  and  that  even  now  there  are 

(CO) 


MARIPOSILLA.  61 

more  sanctified  cranks  to  the  acre  than  in 
any  town  in  America.  " 

As  the  lady  spoke,  a  Salvation  Army 
girl  approached  with  the  War  Cry.  The 
fresh  young  face  peering  from  beneath 
the  ugly  bonnet  had  a  demure  fascination, 
and  rebellious  to  the  scornful  expression 
of  my  companion,  I  dropped  the  requested 
nickel  into  the  extended  hand  of  the 
pretty  fanatic.  As  the  young  woman  re 
tired  to  the  sidewalk,  Mrs.  Sanderson 
laughed  a  derisive  little  laugh. 

"  I  am  sure  you  will  be  doing  something 
wild  if  you  stay  in  this  country  long,"  she 
said.  "  If  it  were  not  for  Marjorie  I  should 
feel  alarmed.  The  noticeable  attentions  of 
the  sallow,  sanctimonious  priest  at  the 
hotel  may  yet  prove  dangerous.  I  shall  feel 
it  my  duty  to  keep  an  eye  upon  you  both." 

"Pray  do,"  I  replied  coldly,  as  we  left 
the  trap  and  entered  a  dry-goods  store, 
gay  with  Christmas  decorations,  and 
crowded  with  shoppers. 

Wending  our  way  to  the  ribbon  counter 
we  found  it  thronged  by  pretty  girls,  chat" 
tering  merrily  as  they  selected  various 
shades  from  a  gay  labyrinth  of  color,  that 
announced  a  sale  of  remnants. 


62  MARIPOSILLA. 

It  was  evident  that  but  one  damsel  of 
the  group  had  troubled  herself  to  remem 
ber  that  the  month  was  December,  for  she 
alone  did  credit  to  her  conventional  con 
victions.  She  resembled,  at  first  glance,  a 
properly  rolled  umbrella.  H er  tailor-made 
gown  was  severe  in  the  extreme,  and  her 
hat  and  carriage  were  harmoniously  stiff. 
Her  companions  wore  cheerful,  girlish 
costumes,  ranging  in  variety  from  a  white 
flannel  tennis  frock,  supplemented  by  fur 
cape  and  straw  sailor  hat,  to  the  very 
correct  street  suit  of  the  severe  young 
woman.  Bright  eyes  and  glowing  cheeks 
showed  plainly  that  if  cotillions  were  a 
frequent  occurrence  in  Pasadena,  as  the 
conversation  of  the  lassies  indicated,  their 
disastrous  ravages  were  providentially  re 
paired  by  horseback  riding  and  tennis  the 
year  round. 

We  had  not  expected  to  meet  friends 
among  the  merry  bevy,  but  as  the  young 
woman  of  the  "  tailor-made  "  turned  to 
leave  the  store,  Mrs.  Sanderson  recognized 
her.  She  was  Miss  Walton,  the  daughter  of 
an  old  friend,  a  wealthy  New  Yorker,  who 
now  lived  most  of  his  time  in  Pasadena. 

The  acknowledgement  was  instantane- 


MARIPOSILLA.  63 

ous,  and  before  the  ladies  had  exchanged 
a  dozen  sentences  they  were  joined  by  a 
younger  sister  who  was  quite  a  beauty. 

"  This  encounter  is  delightful,"  said  the 
younger  girl,  extending  cordially  a  pretty 
bare  hand  slightly  browned  by  the  sun. 
"  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come,  for  now  we 
can  have  Mr.  Sanderson  for  our  cotillion. 
We  were  quite  desperate  for  another  man, 
as  one  of  our  dearest  one-lungers  has  been 
forbidden  to  dance.  The  pretty,  tall  girl 
buying  the  pink  ribbon  is  the  unfortunate 
bereft  of  her  partner.  She  will  b'e  de 
lighted  with  her  luck,  when  I  tell  her  she 
is  to  dance  with  a  man  who  will  not  be 
a  responsibility." 

"For  shame,  Ethel!"  interrupted  the 
tailor-made  Miss  Walton;  "what  will  the 
ladies  think  ? " 

"  The  simple  truth,"  replied  the  irrepres 
sible  Ethel.  "The  ladies  have  doubtless 
learned  of  the  one  drawback  to  our  glori 
ous  climate  —  its  dearth  of  able-bodied 
dancing  men.  Do  you  wonder,  Mrs.  San 
derson,"  the  girl  continued  appealingly, 
"  that  we  jump  at  the  chance  to  dance 
once  in  a  while  with  a  man  who  is  not  del 
icate,  who  has  never  had  a  hemorrhage  or 


64  MARIPOSILLA. 

organic  heart  trouble?  Of  course,"  she 
rattled  on,  "we  have  a  few  sound  men, 
but  this  year  has  been  an  off  year  for  the 
unengaged.  The  two  dear  fellows  who 
made  love  collectively  have  gone  East,  so 
you  see  a  new  man  is  like  balm  in  Gilead." 

"  Sidney  must  certainly  attend  the  cotil 
lion,"  his  mother  said,  much  amused. 

"  Of  course  he  must,"  the  girl  replied, 
gaily.  "  He  will  be  the  belle  of  the  ball. 
When  I  tell  the  girls  confidentially  that 
he  won't  have  to  be  saved  a  particle,  won't 
they  dote  on  him?  You  see  it  is  simply 
crushing  to  have  the  responsibility  of  a 
one-lunger  for  a  whole  evening.  Delicate 
men  are  always  idiotic  about  getting  in  a 
draught,  and  as  stubborn  as  mules  about 
not  putting  on  overcoats  when  healthy 
people  are  freezing.  It  certainly  is  not 
pleasant  to  stop  a  man  in  the  middle  of  a 
waltz  when  you  see  his  wind  giving  out, 
or  to  be  blamed  the  next  day  when  he  is 
absolutely  ill.  Of  course  you  have  to  be 
sympathetic,  send  him  dainties,  and  take 
him  to  drive  as  soon  as  he  is  out  again, 
but  the  responsibility  after  a  time  becomes 
too  serious  to  be  interesting." 

"  Ethel! "  said  her  sister,  "  what  do  you 


MARIPOSILLA.  65 

mean?  She  is  really  not  as  heartless  as 
she  appears,"  Miss  Walton  continued,  turn 
ing  to  Mrs.  Sanderson.  "  I  trust  you  will 
make  due  allowance  for  a  young  lady  who 
persists  in  coming  to  town  in  a  tennis  cos 
tume;  but  as  my  father  has  always  allowed 
her  to  act  like  a  barbarian,  mamma  and  I 
can  do  nothing." 

"  She  seems  delightfully  hopeless,"  Mrs. 
Sanderson  replied.  "We  must  have  the 
pretty  barbarian  at  San  Gabriel  as  soon  as 
possible.  Sid  would  find  your  case  most 
interesting,  Miss  Ethel,  but  perhaps  you 
are  not  aware  of  his  missionary  tenden 
cies?  "  . 

Ethel  laughed,  but  Miss  Walton  took 
no  pains  to  conceal  her  annoyance,  al 
though  she  politely  seconded  her  sister's 
invitation  to  lunch  that  same  day  at 
Crown  Hill. 

"You  shall  not  escape  us,"  Ethel  said, 
gaily,  as  we  hesitated  on  account  of  our 
number,  explaining  that  five  hungry 
people  were  too  many  to  usher  unexpect 
edly  upon  even  the  most  long-suffering 
cook.  "  Not  at  all,"  the  girl  declared. 
"Wong  would  be  in  despair  if  no  com 
pany  came,  as  he  was  expecting  guests 

5 


66  MARIPOSILLA. 

who  at  the  last  moment  sent  word  that  it 
would  be  impossible  for  them  to  come." 

Her  father  and  mother,  too,  were  away, 
and  "but  for  the  delightful  accident  of 
the  morning  my  sister  and  I  would  have 
been  all  alone,"  she  added,  convincingly. 

Promising  to  accept  the  invitation  at  the 
time  appointed,  we  left  the  store  in  search 
of  Sidney  and  the  children. 

Looking  about,  we  perceived  the  team 
hitched  across  the  street,  while  those  we 
sought  had  gone  into  a  confectory  close 
by.  I  could  see  Marjorie  dancing  in  front 
of  the  door  with  a  box  of  candy. 

The  child  was  still  too  delicate  for  rash 
experiments,  and  I  hastily  rushed  to  her 
rescue.  Mrs.  Sanderson  cynically  re 
marked  that  possibly  Marjorie  might  find 
it  less  easy  to  be  good  than  her  mother, 
adding  that  if  the  divine  climatic  restraints 
had  not  proved  stronger  than  her  tempta 
tion  I  must  be  merciful.  I  could  not  help 
feeling  irritated  by  the  sarcastic  remark, 
and  replied  with  spirit.  Mrs.  Sanderson 
must  have  seen  the  uncomfortable  flush 
that  I  felt  mounting  to  my  cheeks,  for  in 
her  inimitable  way  she  apologized. 

"Dear  little  saint,"  she  said,  coaxingly ; 


MARIPOSILLA.  67 

"  forgive  me  if  I  am  less  sentimental  than 
yourself.  It  is,  perhaps,  because  I  have 
lived  too  long  in  this  stupid  world  to 
believe  in  it  very  much.  Alas  !  I  am  not 
a  poet,  and  my  blood  runs  cooler  every 
day."  A  half  tragic  expression,  the  sug 
gestion  of  regret,  darkened  the  woman's 
handsome,  composed  face.  In  an  instant 
it  fled,  leaving  no  trace  of  emotion. 

I  was  much  relieved  to  find  that  Mari- 
posilla  had  kindly  restrained  Marjorie's 
saccharine  yearnings.  The  child  was 
obediently  awaiting  permission  to  eat  a 
chocolate  cream. 

Mariposilla,  too,  had  a  box  of  candy. 
Sidney  gallantly  handed  about  another, 
which  I  saw  was  intended  to  insure  the 
Spanish  girl's  individual  claim  to  the  little 
gift  he  had  just  made  her. 

As  we  left  the  shop,  Mrs.  Sanderson's 
eye  caught  sight  of  a  window  just  beyond, 
in  which  was  displayed  a  choice  collec 
tion  of  Indian  baskets.  The  craze  had 
seized  the  lady  the  year  before,  returning 
with  renewed  vigor,  she  laughingly  owned, 
when  Sidney  attempted  to  restrain  her 
covetous  longings.  Her  son  declared 
that  it  would  even  now  be  impossible 


68  MARIPOSILLA. 

to  take  home  all  the  trash  she  had  accu 
mulated. 

"Never  mind,"  she  insisted,  "we  shall 
look  at  the  collection.  I  can  see  at  a  glance 
that  it  is  a  fine  one,  and  it  is  not  yet  time 
to  go  to  the  Waltons'." 

The  collection  in  question,  we  learned, 
was  a  private  one  offered  for  sale  by  a 
boom  victim,  whose  inflated  ideas  of  Pasa 
dena  real  estate  had  at  one  time  stimu 
lated  his  artistic  desires  to  ruinous  extrava 
gance.  At  that  time  he  had  ransacked  the 
country  for  miles  around  for  rare  baskets, 
regardless  of  price,  which  now  he  was 
obliged  to  sell. 

I  learned  later  that  Mrs.  Sanderson  was 
ever  upon  the  look-out  for  forced  sales. 
Keenly  alive  to  chances  for  procuring 
things  at  half  price,  she  was  always  alert 
for  the  critical  moment. 

Her  enthusiasms  over  the  existing  oppor 
tunities  were  those  of  a  connoisseur  loaded 
with  the  offered  commodity,  yet  unable  to 
endure  the  thought  of  a  Philistine  inva 
sion. 

She  said  it  was  wrong  for  her  to  con 
sider  the  purchase  of  another  Indian  bas 
ket,  but  if  the  beautiful  cora  with  the 


MARIPOSILLA.  69 

feathers  was  not  so  extravagant  in  price 
she  might  possibly  add  it  to  her  collection. 

The  clerk  in  attendance  now  signaled  the 
owner  of  the  baskets  from  the  rear  of  the 
store.  The  gentleman  came  at  once,  and 
tried  in  vain  to  convince  Mrs.  Sanderson 
that  the  cora  with  the  feathers  was  so 
unusually  rare  that  it  was  worth  much 
more  than  the  price  demanded.  He  said 
pathetically  that  his  collection  was  very 
dear  to  him,  he  loved  each  basket  with  a 
different  degree  of  affection,  for  he  had 
discovered  them  all.  Each  had  a  little 
history. 

Dearest "  of  all  was  the  beautiful  cora 
which  the  lady  admired,  and  nothing  but 
absolute  necessity  compelled  him  to  part 
with  it. 

Mrs.  Sanderson  replied  that  she  under 
stood  perfectly  his  feelings.  She,  too,  had 
always  been  a  great  collector.  She  had 
even  at  this  late  day  discovered  baskets, 
and  knew  now  of  a  Mexican  settlement 
where  valuable  things  were  still  in  hiding. 
She  thought  she  would  soon  go  upon  a 
tour  of  discovery,  and  perhaps  she  might 
find  a  cora  with  feathers.  She  was  sorry 
not  to  assist  the  gentleman  in  his  diffi- 


70  MARIPOSILLA. 

culties.  She  would  be  very  fond  of  the 
feather  basket,  she  knew,  and  if  the  price 
were  reduced  upon  three  larger  baskets 
as  well  as  upon  the  one  she  admired,  she 
might  possibly  take  all  four.  However, 
she  had  best  flee  from  temptation.  It  was 
getting  late,  after  twelve,  and  the  Waltons 
were  expecting  them  at  one. 

With  her  inimitable  smile  she  bade  us 
make  haste  to  depart,  while  she  sympathe 
tically  hoped,  in  the  hearing  of  the 
obsequious  clerk  who  opened  the  door, 
that  the  feather  basket  might  soon  find 
a  purchaser  who  would  appreciate  its 
beauty. 

As  she  left  the  store  her  deliberation 
was  masterly.  Before  she  had  reached 
the  sidewalk  the  clerk  had  motioned  her 
back.  The  four  baskets  were  hers  at  half 
their  value. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

ON  our  way  to  luncheon  we  drove  be 
tween  palms  and  flowers,  the  entire  length 
of  a  long,  well-kept  avenue.  Located 
at  its  end  is  a  group  of  small  hills,  each  of 
which  has  been  eagerly  selected  for  a 
home  site  because  of  the  incomparable 
advantages  of  the  situation.  Conspicuous 
among  these  knolls  is  Crown  Hill,  the 
home  of  the  Waltons.  Unique  as  an 
island  in  its  individual  charm,  its  gentle 
slopes  are  surrounded  on  all  sides  by 
traveled  roads  which  define  perfectly  its 
boundaries,  while  they  protect  from  intru 
sion  the  low-gabled  country  house  which 
stands  in  the  heart  of  six  acres,  cresting 
hospitably  the  hill.  The  landscape  upon 
all  sides  is  strikingly  beautiful.  From  the 
south  and  west  the  pastoral  harmony  of 
the  view  is  enhanced  by  a  chain  of  wooded 
hills  evading  the  advances  of  civilization, 
as  they  smile  serenely  upon  extensive 
gardens  and  picturesque  homes.  Upon 
other  sides  glorious  snow-capped  moun- 

(71) 


72  MARIPOSILLA. 

tains,  glittering  with  Alpine  splendor, 
intensify  the  rich,  ever-changing  tones 
of  the  long,  over-lapping  chain.  The  day 
was  so  fresh  and  bright  that  as  we  drove 
to  Crown  Hill  a  new  luster  seemed  upon 
the  earth.  As  we  ascended  the  gentle 
slope,  Ethel  waved  us  a  welcome  from  the 
broad  veranda.  When  we  alighted,  too 
entranced  to  enter  the  house,  the  elder 
sister  appeared. 

"  Is  it  not  lovely  ? "  Ethel  cried  enthu 
siastically,  perceiving  our  delight  at  the 
unbroken  landscape.  "  Don't  hurry  us, 
Margaret,"  the  girl  implored,  when  Miss 
Walton  began  to  evince  a  slight  nervous 
ness  at  our  delay  in  entering.  "  Daddy  is 
not  here  to  point  out  the  unsurpassed 
beauties  of  the  hill;  so  his  own  girl  must 
see  that  no  points  are  overlooked,  even  if 
luncheon  does  wait  a  minute.  You  see," 
Ethel  continued  as  we  turned  slowly  to 
enter  the  house,  drawn  by  the  persistent 
expression  upon  Miss  Margaret's  appre 
hensive  countenance  ;  "  this  place  belongs 
to  Daddy  and  me.  Mamma  and  Margaret 
own  the  house  in  New  York.  Every  year 
they  go  back  to  its  dingy  magnificence, 
and  imagine  themselves  supremely  happy. 


MARIPOSILLA.  73 

When  they  sit  in  the  middle  drawing- 
room,  that  looks  so  touchingly  upon  our 
neighbors'  brick  side- wall,  their  enjoyment 
is  rare.  The  place  has  to  be  lighted  all 
day  with  electric  lanterns,  but  it  matters 
not  to  these  two  deluded  souls.  They  are 
enjoying  themselves  in  the  swell  room  of 
the  house — so  very  oriental,  don't  you 
know  ? " 

"  Do  be  quiet,  Ethel,  and  show  our 
friends  in, "  the  elder  sister  implored. 
"  Margaret  is  an  absolute  tyrant,  "  the  girl 
replied,  leading  us  beyond  the  wide,  invit 
ing  hall,  into  a  large,  sunny  drawing-room 
that  at  once  captivated  us  with  its  indi 
viduality. 

As  we  entered  between  the  portieres  I 
noticed  that  Mariposilla  flushed  with  de 
light.  The  child  had  never  before  been 
in  so  lovely  a  room.  Its  warm  delicacy 
was  a  strange  contrast  to  the  gaudy,  half- 
grotesque,  half -religious  apartments  to 
which  she  had  been  accustomed.  Ethel, 
perceiving  her  pleasure,  smiled  encourag 
ingly. 

"  You  like  my  room  ? "  she  said,  kindly. 
"  It  is  all  mine,  and,  to  be  honest,  I  am 
proud  of  it.  You  see  how  differently  I 


74  MARIPOSILLA. 

have  worked  for  my  effects  from  the  usual 
methods,"  she  said,  turning  to  Mrs.  San 
derson,  who  was  exclaiming  over  the  rest- 
fulness  of  the  furniture.  "  I  am  so  glad 
that  you  are  pleased,"  Ethel  continued, 
"  for  I  had  much  to  combat  before  I  was 
allowed  to  fire  oppressive  upholsterings  in 
favor  of  lovely  Morris  cottons." 

The  girl  had  indeed  caught  the  spirit  of 
her  semi-tropical  climate  ;  for  the  room 
was  charmingly  in  sympathy  with  the 
world  outside  of  the  windows.  The  rough 
walls,  pale  yellow,  in  combination  with  the 
paneled  ceiling  and  colonial  casings, 
painted  cream,  had  surely  created  a  per 
fect  background  for  the  admirable  fur 
nishings.  Never  before  had  quaint  chairs 
and  deep  couches  looked  so  inviting  as 
these  in  Morris  cottons.  Their  creamy 
tone,  relieved  by  soft  browns  and  warm 
yellows,  defied  the  sordid  observer,  who 
could  never  quite  estimate  their  yard 
value.  The  broad  windows  were  cur 
tained  in  simple  falls  of  dainty  lace  of 
open  texture  that  excluded  neither  sun 
light  nor  landscape.  In  the  colonial  fire 
place  burned  a  real  fire  of  huge  logs,  that 
was  never  allowed  to  die  out,  and  warmed 


MARIPOSILLA.  75 

with  irresistible  comfort  the  fresh,  health 
ful  atmosphere  of  the  room.  In  unsus 
pected  corners  and  in  bold  situations, 
great  satsuma  jars  filled  with  ferns  and 
tall  papyrus  emphasized  the  possibilities 
of  a  Pasadena  home.  Cheerful  water- 
colors  in  plain  white  frames  adorned  the 
walls,  while  above  the  fire,  an  old  French 
mirror  caught  from  the  picture-window 
opposite  the  distant  shadows  and  sunlit 
spurs  of  the  peaceful  Mother  Mountains. 
Long-stemmed  roses  and  dear  old  silver 
candlesticks  gleamed  side  by  side  upon  a 
quaint,  inviting  tea-table,  which,  close  by 
the  glowing  fire,  shone  like  a  glimpse 
from  America's  most  picturesque  period, 
adorned  with  the  dainty  relics  of  a  col 
onial  tea-set. 

"The  room  is  superb,"  Mrs.  Sanderson 
declared,  as  she  surveyed  critically  its 
artistic  details.  The  rich  oriental  rugs 
and  large  white  Angora  skins  thickly 
strewn  upon  the  straw  matting  completely 
captivated  Mariposilla.  She  timidly  sank 
her  feet  into  a  rug  lying  before  one  of  the 
broad  couches,  blushing  perceptibly,  I 
thought,  at  the  recollection  of  her  own 
humble  home. 


76  MARIPOSILLA. 

The  simple  child  was  nearly  frightened 
by  the  prevalent  luxury,  and  but  for  the 
watchful  attentions  of  Ethel,  might  have 
grown  uncomfortable.  With  infinite  tact 
her  pretty  hostess  led  her  about,  with  the 
familiarity  of  a  sister,  often  coaxing  her 
into  artless  bursts  of  enthusiasm. 

"The  library  is  papa's  success,"  Ethel 
explained  as  we  sauntered  reluctantly 
from  the  beautiful  drawing  room.  "  You 
see,"  she  continued,  "  Papa,  too,  has  made 
a  California  room.  Excepting  his  books, 
there  is  hardly  a  vestige  of  civilization  to 
be  found." 

It  was  even  as  the  daughter  had  said,  a 
room  in  which  literature  and  the  odor  of 
fragrant  cigars  alone  suggested  a  modern 
epoch.  The  decorations,  if  such  they 
could  be  called,  were  all  Indian.  Rare 
tribe  blankets  covered  the  floor  and 
couches,  serving  not  only  for  portieres,  but 
in  parts  of  the  room  for  wall  hangings. 
Against  these  blankets  were  displayed  an 
unrivaled  collection  of  rich  old  baskets. 
Upon  one  wall  was  stretched  a  gorgeous 
Indian  genealogy,  the  handiwork  of  a 
gifted  squaw,  while  the  skin  of  a  mam 
moth  grizzly,  the  huge  head  still  intact, 


MARIPOSILLA.  77 

reposed  in  front  of  the  fireplace.  From 
chimney  shelf  to  ceiling  hung  weapons 
and  finery  pertaining  to  the  aboriginal 
chase. 

"Now,"  said  Ethel,  when  Miss  Mar 
garet  demanded  once  more  our  immedi 
ate  attendance  upon  luncheon,  "  we  will 
strike  for  high  civilization  —  my  sister's 
own  kingdom!  "  Upon  seating  ourselves 
about  the  great  round  table  in  the  per 
fectly  appointed  dining-room,  I  observed 
that  Sidney  had  been  placed  between 
Ethel  and  Mariposilla,  while  Marjorie 
and  I  had  been  assigned  places  opposite. 
I  could  see  Mariposilla's  every  motion 
without  appearing  to  watch  her,  and  I 
confess  that  I  was  at  first  slightly  agi 
tated,  fearing  the  ordeal  might  prove 
embarrassing,  not  only  for  the  child,  but 
for  ourselves. 

I  was  sure  that  she  had  never  before 
been  seated  at  so  stylish  a  lunch-table. 
In  spite  of  its  cultivated  informality, 
there  was  for  the  unsophisticated  girl  an 
unintelligible  problem  close  at  hand  in 
the  complicated  appointments  of  her 
plate. 

While  we  spoke  of  the  exquisite  long- 


78  MARIPOSILLA. 

stemmed  pink  roses  that  filled  a  cut- 
glass  punch-bowl  in  the  center  of  the  table, 
I  could  see  Mariposilla  regarding  quietly 
the  array  of  silver  encompassing  her 
place.  If  I  again  doubted  the  propriety 
of  what  we  had  done,  it  was  evident 
that  but  one  method  of  escape  remained 
—  to  make  plain  my  every  motion.  Even 
as  the  idea  seized  me  I  perceived  that 
the  Spanish  child  had  hit  upon  the  plan 
herself,  and  was  nervefully  determined 
not  to  disgrace  her  friends. 

As  luncheon  proceeded  I  almost  forgot 
my  fears  in  admiration  for  the  child's 
pluck.  Her  sensible,  observant  conduct 
delighted  me,  and  I  no  longer  doubted 
her  fitness  for  any  social  position  to 
which  she  might  be  raised. 

Mrs.  Sanderson,  as  usual,  captivated 
the  party  with  gay  sallies  of  wit.  Her 
pretty  allusions  to  the  faultless  details  of 
Miss  Walton's  table  won  for  her  at  once 
Miss  Margaret's  approval. 

"Your  starched  Celestial  fills  me  with 
reverence,"  she  declared,  when  the  impas 
sible  Wong  left  the  dining-room,  after 
depositing,  with  majestic  importance,  a 
wonderful  salad. 


MARIPOSILLA.  79 

"  He  never  allows  the  maid  to  bring  in 
the  salad,"  Ethel  explained,  mirthfully. 
"  He  considers  a  salad  the  culmination  of 
his  art,  and  generally  announces  for  the 
benefit  of  our  guests,  '  Heap  fine  salad  ! 
Muchey  good.'" 

"You  tempt  me  to  set  up  a  house  in 
Pasadena,"  Mrs.  Sanderson  said,  "if  for 
no  other  reason  than  to  eat,  as  often  as 
possible  before  I  die,  a  perfect  salad 
such  as  this.  Shall  we  not  start  an 
establishment  at  once,  Sid  ?  for  the  joy 
of  a  Wong  who  enjoys  entertaining  as 
much  as  does  his  mistress?  Can  you 
invite  friends  in  this  irresponsible  way 
at  any  time  ? "  the  lady  asked,  earnestly. 

"Oh,  yes,"  answered  Ethel,  "nothing 
delights  Wong  so  much  as  company. 
You  know,  a  good  Chinese  servant  is 
quite  ignorant  of  his  spinal  organism. 
He  expects  to  serve  you  well  for  what 
you  pay  him,  exonerating  you  delight 
fully  from  the  heavy  obligations  often 
imposed  in  America  by  ambitious  females 
who  assist  at  cooking  for  a  pastime." 

"  Then  you  really  don't  have  to  hold 
a  preliminary  caucus  to  ascertain  the 
state  of  the  cook's  health  and  temper 


80  MARIPOSILLA. 

before  you  can  find  courage  to  invite  a 
few  friends  to  dinner?"  Mrs.  Sanderson 
answered,  interrogatively. 

"Certainly  not!"  said  Ethel.  "A  good 
Chinaman  has  the  greatest  reverence  for 
caste;  his  respect  for  his  mistress  de 
pends  largely  upon  what  he  shrewdly 
determines  in  regard  to  her  position  in 
society.  'She  very  high-tone  lady,"  is 
his  favorite  expression  for  a  thoroughly 
admired  mistress.  He  considers  it  an 
honor  not  only  to  serve  her  to  the  best 
of  his  ability,  but  regards  her  friends 
with  equal  consideration." 

"  How  delightfully  comfortable  it  all 
sounds!  Yet  is  there  not  a  possibility  of 
converting  these  same  convenient  hea 
then  into  a  state  of  uselessness,  rather 
than  to  Christianity  ? "  Mrs.  Sanderson 
pursued.  "I  have  heard,"  the  lady  con 
tinued,  "that  enthusiasts  are  already 
metamorphosing  some  of  the  best  cooks 
into  poets  and  orators,  as  well  as  first- 
class  laundrymen  into  political  econo 
mists." 

" Now," laughed  Ethel,  "you  are  tramp 
ing  poor  Margaret's  toes.  When  we  first 
came  to  California  my  sister  approved 


MARIPOSILLA.  81 

warmly  of  the  education  of  the  down 
trodden  Celestial,  but  I  fear  that  experi 
ence  has  withered  her  philanthropy.  One 
boy  that  we  had,  after  professing  a  most 
devout  conversion,  which  necessitated  his 
departure  to  school  at  the  most  incon 
venient  times,  suddenly  conceived  a 
renewed  longing  for  the  exciting  infor 
malities  of  Chinese  New  Year. 

"  He  told  Margaret,  as  he  bade  her  a 
polite  good  morning,  that  he  'no  likey 
be  good  velly  long.  Have  more  fun  be 
heap  bad  some  time.  Good  Boss  forgive 
sins  all  samey  when  you  be  heap  solly 
after  while.'  Even  sister  was  crushed  by 
the  theology.  Our  next  boy  was  a  genu 
ine  heathen." 

"  I  am  astonished,  Ethel,"  said  Miss 
Walton,  "  I  hope  you  will  never  again 
repeat  that  blasphemous  story." 

"  Forgive  her,"  entreated  Mrs.  Sander 
son,  "  I  would  not  have  missed  it  for  a 
great  deal,  and  although  it  seems  unfor 
tunate  that  our  romantic  philanthropy  is 
often  quenched  by  a  downpour  of  com 
mon  sense,  yet  it  is  perhaps  safest  for  the 
world  after  all.  I  shall  never  cease  to 
enjoy  your  story,  Miss  Ethel.  When  my 

6 


82  MARIPOSILLA. 

sympathies  threaten  to  melt  my  judg 
ments  I  shall  think  of  your  theological 
heathen  who  rose  superior  to  his  instruc 
tors,  able  to  grasp  so  cleverly  the  pleas 
ant  features  of  Christianity  without  its 
inconveniences. " 

When  Mrs.  Sanderson  finished  her  irre 
ligious  sally,  Miss  Walton's  pained,  shocked 
expression  was  most  apparent.  She  con 
centrated  her  attention  upon  her  jelly, 
with  a  well-bred  annoyance  that  was 
readily  understood  by  the  offender.  The 
calculating  woman,  with  no  desire  to  anger 
the  truly  conscientious  girl,  whose  secta 
rian  delight  in  the  teachings  of  her  church 
made  it  impossible  for  her  to  tolerate 
the  semblance  of  skepticism,  gracefully 
shifted  the  conversation  to  the  engrossing 
cotillion,  afterward  bearing  down  with 
conciliatory  intent  upon  the  Christmas 
bazar  soon  to  be  held  by  the  Guild  of  Miss 
Margaret's  church. 

"We  will  all  come,"  she  said,  as  we  left 
the  table.  "One  soon  loses  step  with 
events  in  San  Gabriel,  but  the  bazar  will 
help  us  to  catch  up  with  the  world,"  she 
added,  mirthfully. 

That  Mrs.  Sanderson  was  a  scoffer  of 


MARIPOSILLA.  83 

the  most  captivating  and  dangerous  type 
can  not  be  denied.  She  loved  to  ridicule 
uninteresting  things  and  commonplace 
people;  and  doubtless  this  fact  accounted 
for  the  dearth  of  friends  answering  to  her 
own  age.  It  was  to  unthinking  youth 
that  the  flashing  sarcasms  and  stinging 
flings  at  established  usages  and  sacred 
traditions  appeared  the  embodiment  of 
brilliant  repartee.  In  complete  contradic 
tion  to  her  caustic  beliefs,  she  seemed  to 
the  young  the  soul  of  sincerity,  working 
ever  the  most  unselfish  conditions  for 
their  enjoyment. 

Mrs.  Sanderson  disliked  old  people  inhu 
manly,  white  she  courted,  with  every  possi 
ble  inducement,  the  society  of  the  young. 

"  I  have  a  morbid  horror  of  growing 
old,"  she  would  say.  "  Sid  won't  promise 
to  poison  me,  so  I  suppose  I  must  provide 
myself  with  a  daughter-in-law.  My  best 
blood  is  French,  and  when  the  illusions 
are  once  dispelled  each  new  wrinkle  will 
torture."  On  the  day  of  the  luncheon,  as 
we  sauntered  from  the  drawing-room  into 
the  library,  Mrs.  Sanderson  declared  that 
she  had  conceived  an  idea  for  old  age. 
"Your  father's  study  is  an  inspiration," 


84  MARIPOSILLA. 

she  exclaimed,  turning  to  Ethel.  "As 
soon  as  I  am  sixty  I  shall  take  down  all 
the  mirrors  in  my  house  and  prepare  a 
similar  retiring  room,  although  more 
entirely  barbaric.  There  shall  be  no  ves 
tige  of  civilization  in  my  den,  nothing  to 
encourage  reminiscences,  nothing  to  sug 
gest  the  masterful  march  of  time.  I  see 
now  that  it  is  the  certainty  of  one's  period 
which  crushes.  Indian  decorations  mean 
absolutely  nothing  to  the  uninitiated. 
Wrapped  in  the  blanket  of  a  remote  chief 
one  could  forget  even  his  birthday.  There 
shall  be  nothing  in  my  room  to  remind  me 
every  hour  that  I  am  a  grandmother. 
Nothing  to  say — 'You  bought  me  thirty 
years  ago,'  or,  'We  are  both  growing 
threadbare  together.  Your  hair  is  white 
and  thin,  while  I  am  quite  out  of  style.' 
No,  my  dears,  if  I  live  to  be  old,  I  shall 
never  be  tortured  by  relics  of  my  own 
period.  However,"  the  cold,  worldly 
woman  continued,  smiling  irresistibly 
upon  her  young  companions,  who  failed  to 
comprehend  her  heartless  theories,  "  I  am 
not  sixty.  I  have  several  years  before  I 
must  take  to  a  blanket,  so  let  us  return  to 
the  pretty  drawing-room  and  Mariposilla 


MARIPOSILLA.  85 

will  play  one  of  her  witching  Spanish 
dances." 

"Be  spry,  Sid,"  she  commanded,  when 
the  Spanish  child  obediently  seated  her 
self  upon  a  low  chair  preparatory  to  tun 
ing  the  guitar,  "  a  footstool  for  the  little 
feet;  they  look  so  pretty  upon  a  cushion." 

The  lady's  open  flattery  appeared  no 
longer  to  embarrass  Mariposilla;  she  was 
gradually  growing  accustomed  to  that, 
but  when  Sidney  placed  in  front  of  her 
the  footstool,  a  richer  flush  intensified  her 
beauty. 

"  She  must  have  a  mantilla  for  her 
head,"  Mrs.  Sanderson  cried,  as  she  caught 
from  her  own  shoulders  the  rich  Spanish 
lace  scarf,  which  she  wore  in  her  drives  as 
a  throat  protector.  She  threw  it  lightly 
over  the  girl's  dark  head,  allowing  the 
ends  to  fall  about  her  scarlet  frock. 
"There!  is  she  not  a  divine  senorita?" 
she  exclaimed,  as  she  viewed  her  blushing 
plaything  with  critical  delight.  "Is  she 
not  exquisite  ? "  she  continued  shame 
lessly.  "  See  how  easily  we  have  caught 
the  loveliest  butterfly  in  all  Old  Spain ! 
Play  !  Mariposilla,  play  !" 

When  the  child  obediently  struck  the 


86  MARIPOSILLA. 

strings  of  the  guitar,  Mrs.  Sanderson  de 
clared  that  American  women  knew  noth 
ing  of  dress.  "  Why  do  we  not  burn  our 
bonnets,  that  our  lovers  may  kneel  to  our 
lace  mantillas?  "  she  said  to  Ethel. 

As  Mariposilla  paused  in  her  playing, 
all  applauded  with  the  exception  of  Miss 
Walton.  From  the  first,  she  had  appeared 
annoyed  by  the  dramatic  conditions  of  the 
afternoon.  As  our  hostess,  she  was  op 
pressed  with  suppression.  I  could  see 
that  the  literal  young  woman,  viewing  all 
things  from  a  narrow  and  conventional 
standpoint,  longed  to  escape  from  the 
theatrical  atmosphere  which  Mrs.  Sander 
son  had  so  unexpectedly  created. 

I  myself  may  have  doubted  the  pro 
priety  of  Mrs.  Sanderson's  course,  but  at 
the  time,  I  did  not  doubt  the  woman,  and 
was  so  completely  bewitched  by  Maripo- 
silla's  beauty,  that  I  failed  to  disapprove 
what  appeared  to  be  only  a  pleasant  pas 
time. 

Never  before  had  I  seen  any  one  so 
lovely  as  this  young  girl.  The  rich  tints 
had  kindled  beneath  her  cheeks,  while  her 
eyes,  when  she  lifted  them,  shone  with 
lambent  reflections  of  wonderful,  half-un- 


MARIPOSILLA.  87 

derstood  joy.  She  appeared  a  vision  from 
a  lost  century,  playing  upon  the  credulity 
of  the  present. 

I  do  not  wish  to  give  the  impression 
that  Mariposilla  was  a  marvelous  musi 
cian,  for  such  was  not  the  case.  She  only 
played  with  an  original  abandon  which 
made  her  movements  and  the  customary 
little  tricks  of  her  instrument  appear  more 
masterly  than  in  reality  they  were.  Her 
playing  depended  entirely  upon  her  mood, 
and  that  she  was  now  happy,  carried  far 
away  from  vexation  or  possible  disappoint 
ment,  was  plain ;  for  the  slender  brown 
fingers  picked  the  strings  as  never  before. 
She  seemed  perfectly  absorbed  in  her 
music,  and  only  when  the  long  lashes 
lifted  for  a  moment  did  her  wonderful 
eyes  proclaim  the  truth  she  was  attempt 
ing  to  hide.  When  the  lashes  again  drooped, 
soft,  telltale  shadows  quivered  beneath  the 
dark  fringe  that  hid  her  impassioned  joy. 
The  ridges  of  her  small  ears  grew  pink, 
her  lips  richer.  The  merest  reflection  of 
dimples  fled  and  returned  to  the  glowing 
cheeks,  as  each  new  emotion  revealed  her 
happy  secret. 

The  day,  I  have  said,  had  been  unusually 


88  MARIPOSILLA. 

warm.  The  sun  had  reached  its  meridian 
without  faltering  ;  only  above  the  mount 
ains  had  the  fathomless  blue  of  the  sky 
been  broken  by  a  few  thin  clouds.  Un 
expectedly  the  air  grew  chill  as  the  sun 
fled  behind  a  bank  of  fog,  which  spread 
each  moment  with  amazing  density  upon 
the  valley. 

With  the  first  dimming  of  the  day,  a 
change  appeared  in  Mariposilla ;  while 
Miss  Walton  grew  at  once  serene.  Unex 
pectedly  and  discordantly  the  Spanish  child 
ended  her  performance.  Like  a  frightened 
bird  she  fluttered  to  my  side,  her  color 
gone,  her  courage  shaken. 

"We  must  go,"  I  said,  turning  to  Mrs. 
Sanderson.  "Marjorie  must  not  be  ex 
posed  to  the  fog,"  I  explained,  as  we  bade 
good  bye  to  Miss  Walton  and  Ethel.  There 
appeared  to  be  a  mock  significance  in  Miss 
Margaret's  thin  voice  when  she  invited  us 
to  repeat  our  visit.  Ethel  alone  accom 
panied  us  to  the  door. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

NEVER  before  had  the  unpretentious 
home  of  the  Dona  Maria  Del  Valle  ap 
peared  so  complete  a  refuge  as  upon  our 
return  after  the  eventful  day  in  Pasadena. 
In  the  living-room  our  kind  hostess  had 
lighted  a  fire  of  grotesque  grape  roots, 
that  writhed  like  a  holocaust  of  mummies. 
After  the  gloom  without,  our  welcome 
seemed  perfect.  The  ruddy  flames  from 
the  fireplace,  flickering  against  the  dusky 
walls,  had  mercifully  relieved  the  row  of 
saints,  who  in  the  daytime  appeared  to 
suffer  .persistently  the  throes  of  indiges 
tion.  Likewise,  from  her  frame  above  the 
chimney  shelf  the  little  Spanish  Virgin 
smiled  serenely  upon  her  holy  Child.  In 
the  firelight,  she  seemed  to  forget  her 
atrocious  finery  in  the  sweet  consciousness 
of  her  maternity. 

The  aged  grandmother  dozed  in  her 
accustomed  chair.  At  her  feet  the  gray- 
hounds,  Pancho  and  Pachita,  sprawled  in 
longitudinal  grace,  dead  dogs,  to  all  ap- 

(89) 


90  MARIPOSILLA. 

pearances,  until  a  trespassing  footstep 
attested  their  vigilance. 

A  faint,  delicious  odor  of  frijoles  floated 
from  the  kitchen  when  the  Dona  Maria 
opened  the  door  to  bid  us  welcome 
home. 

Marjorie  flew  to  the  strong  arms  over 
joyed;  but  Mariposilla  avoided  her  mother 
as  she  hastily  retreated  to  her  own  room, 
remaining  apart  until  called  to  supper. 

The  watchful  Dona  Maria,  observing 
that  her  child  could  eat  nothing,  artlessly 
inquired  the  cause.  "  Are  not  the  frijoles 
inviting?"  she  asked,  in  simple  distress. 
"  I  have  prepared  them  most  fresh,  and 
the  oil  is  from  a  new  bottle,"  the  good 
woman  pursued. 

"Perhaps  my  child  is  not  well;  if  so,  it 
is  unfortunate  that  she  should  have  gone 
from  home,  for  the  good  Father  and  Sister 
Francisco  came  at  noon.  While  I  served 
them  with  fruit  and  wine  the  Father  told 
much  of  our  dear  Arturo,  expressing  often 
great  joy  that  so  fine  a  youth  grows  rich, 
soon  to  return  to  the  friends  who  await 
him  with  so  much  affection.  Sister  Fran 
cisco  was  grieved  that  the  convent  is  no 
more  dear  to  her  child.  She  requested 


MARIPOSILLA.  91 

that  the  days  be  few  until  a  visit  is  paid, 
and  left  with  her  love  a  little  gift." 

As  the  Dona  Maria  paused,  she  arose 
from  the  table  and  handed  Mariposilla  a 
small  religious  book. 

The  child  had  controlled  herself  with 
stoical  determination  throughout  her 
mother's  reproachful  disclosures,  but,  un 
able  to  do  so  longer,  she  burst  into  tears 
and  fled  from  the  room. 

The  calm  Dona  Maria  took  no  notice  of 
the  tempestuous  departure,  but  the  grand 
mother  appeared  distressed,  muttering  her 
disapproval  in  Spanish. 

I  confess  that  I  felt  annoyed  at  Maripo- 
silla's  conduct.  I  could  see  no  reason  for 
the  outburst  of  grief  and  felt  myself  an 
innocent  agent  in  unsettling  her  happiness 
and  disturbing  her  family. 

After  supper,  when  I  had  undressed 
Marjorie,  who  was  soon  asleep,  and  had 
put  on  a  chamber  gown  preparatory  to 
writing  letters,  a  timid  tap  at  my  door  told 
me  that  Mariposilla  was  without.  So  fond 
had  I  become  of  the  child  that  I  instantly 
forgot  my  recent  resentment.  Not  wait 
ing  for  the  penitent  to  come  to  me  I  met 
her  at  the  door.  Drawing  her  to  the 


02  MARIPOSILLA. 

couch  I  urged  her  to  tell  me  quietly  the 
cause  of  her  unhappiness. 

"  The  senora  will  think  me  unworthy  of 
her  love,"  she  cried,  chokingly. 

"  No,  dear,"  I  replied,  "  I  shall  always 
love  you.  I  have  had  many  sorrows  my 
self,  and  I  know  how  hard  it  is  to  speak  of 
them;  but  always  when  I  have  confided  in 
a  true  friend,  I  have  felt  better  and  sorry 
that  I  had  not  sought  relief  sooner." 

"I  will  tell  you,"  she  said,  "and  then 
you  may  despise  me." 

She  was  very  beautiful  as  she  half 
drooped  before  me,  her  great  eyes  moist, 
her  dark  hair  loose  about  her  shoulders. 

"Tell  me  all,  dear  child,"  I  urged,  as  she 
still  hesitated. 

"  I  am  most  wicked  !  "  she  cried  desper- 
ately.  "  I  love  not  my  people  ;  I  am  un 
happy  because  I  am  not  an  American." 

A  gush  of  tears  terminated  the  confes 
sion. 

"  Poor  child  !  "  I  said,  drawing  her  to  my 
side  ;  "  I  am  glad  that  you  have  told  me 
your  trouble,  for  I  think  I  can  help  you 
very  soon." 

She  lifted  her  face  appealingly  while  I 
spoke. 


MARIPOSILLA.  93 

"  Yes,"  I  continued,  "  I  am  sure  that  I 
understand  your  unhappiness.  You  are 
not  untrue  to  your  people.  You  only 
desire  to  be  an  American  because  you  have 
perceived  that  they  are  more  in  touch  with 
the  times  than  your  own  nation,  who,  from 
loss  of  fortune  and  other  causes,  are  not 
what  they  once  were,  or  what  they  will 
some  day  be  again.  Your  poor  little  heart 
and  mind  are  starving  for  food.  You  must 
be  nourished,  and  then  you  will  be  happy. 
It  is  perfectly  right  that  you  should  admire 
the  superior  attainments  and  polished 
manners  of  a  race  not  your  own.  It  means 
no  disloyalty  to  your  people,  only  the  de 
sire  for  a -broader  life  and  a  higher  culture. 

"  You  may  be  sure,  dear  child,  that  no 
one  is  ever  satisfied.  The  yearnings  of 
the  heart  after  unattainable  desires  is  com 
mon  in  God's  wide  creation.  The  longings 
of  the  savage  are  only  different  in  degree 
from  yours  or  mine.  Race  puts  no  limits 
upon  pure  and  laudable  ambition. 

"  It  is  not  necessary  for  you  to  be  an 
American  to  be  all  that  a  lovely  woman 
should  be.  The  daughter  of  the  brave, 
wonderful  Dona  Maria  Del  Valle  can  make 
of  herself  whatever  she  determines." 


94  MARIPOSILLA. 

Mariposilla  was  still  weeping  gently. 

"  You  are  very  beautiful,  dear  child,"  I 
continued.  "More  beautiful  than  any 
American  girl  I  ever  knew.  Still  there 
is  a  beauty  which  shines  from  the  soul 
and  from  the  mind  that  you  must  try 
daily  to  acquire.  Then  you  will  be  lovely, 
without  flaw. 

"  If  only  you  will  be  patient  and  true  to 
your  best  ambitions,  I  am  sure  that  a 
great  happiness  will  some  day  come  into 
your  life.  Try  to  be  contented.  Be  a 
dutiful  daughter  to  your  dear  mother,  who 
has  seen  so  much  sorrow,  and  has  left  only 
her  precious  child.  Please  her  in  all  things 
that  are  possible,  and  if  you  will  do  this 
I  am  sure  that  after  a  time  you  will  un 
derstand  how  wise  and  unselfish  she  has 
always  been." 

Instantly  the  girl  released  herself,  while 
she  faced  me  with  a  passionate  despair  I 
will  never  forget. 

"  I  will  do  all,"  she  cried,  "  but  marry  Ar- 
turo.  If  I  do  not  that  I  have  done  nothing. 
The  priest  and  my  mother  and  the  sisters  at 
the  convent  will  curse  me  if  I  refuse.  They 
will  call  me  a  shame,  and,  although  I  love 
not  Arturo,  they  would  sell  me  for  his  gold." 


MARIPOSILLA.  95 

"No,  dear,"  I  entreated,  "no  one  will 
compel  you  to  marry  Arturo.  Believe  me, 
you  shall  do  as  you  please,  only  you  must 
not  allow  unjust  suspicions  to  make  you 
miserable.  Think  no  more  for  the  pres 
ent  of  marriage,  try  only  to  learn  things 
that  will  fit  you  for  life  and  happiness; 
after  a  time,  if  one  should  come  whom  you 
love,  you  can  then  not  only  make  him  joy 
ful  with  your  great  beauty,  but  he  will 
love  and  respect  you,  because  you  have 
acquired  the  knowledge  that  makes  life 
agreeable  and  comfortable  long  after 
youth  and  beauty  have  flown." 

"The  senora  is  most  wise,"  the  child 
assented  calmly.  "  Perhaps  she  will  teach 
me  a  little  from  her  books,  that  I,  too,  may 
learn  of  the  great  world;  for,  indeed,  I  will 
be  good,"  she  cried,  brightening  with  the 
determination. 

"Yes,  Mariposilla,"  I  replied;  "each  day 
you  shall  have  a  lesson  in  English,  and 
soon  you  will  be  able  to  enjoy  all  that  I 
enjoy;  only  in  return  you  must  teach  me 
Spanish,  that  I  may  also  understand  the 
language  and  literature  of  your  famous 
race." 

Thus  the  compact  was  sealed,  and  each 


96  MARIPOSILLA. 

day  afterward  found  Mariposilla  seated 
quietly  in  my  room,  poring  over  an 
allotted  task.  Her  stormy  passions  seemed 
stilled.  If  the  wind  of  destiny  sometimes 
shrieked  in  my  watchful  ears,  it  more  fre 
quently  sighed  plaintively  as  I  devised 
new  educational  schemes  for  my  prot£g£e. 

No  one  was  more  delighted  over  Mari- 
posilla's  apparent  reformation  than  the 
Dona  Maria. 

Not  only  did  the  lessons  progress  with 
astonishing  regularity,  but  work  on  the 
altar  cloth,  which  had  been  for  long  inter 
vals  neglected  so  that  its  various  stages 
of  completion  were  easily  detected  in  the 
several  soiled  sections  of  the  linen,  was 
resumed  with  steady,  plodding  determina 
tion.  Now  but  one  row  of  the  little  Jesus 
stitch  remained  to  be  done  in  the  beautiful 
cloth  ordered  months  before  by  a  wealthy 
devotee. 

The  Dona  Maria  was  in  ecstasies  when 
her  daughter  brought  the  task  finished, 
two  days  before  Christmas ;  at  the  same 
time  begging  permission  to  ride  to  Pasa 
dena  that  she  might  receive  for  her  labor 
the  great  sum  of  thirty  dollars. 

That  same  morning,  when  Mariposilla 


MARIPOSILLA.  97 

was  pressing  carefully  the  handsome  piece 
of  linen,  Father  Ramirez  had  looked  into 
the  kitchen  and  praised  her  industry. 

"  After  all,  she  is  a  dear  child,"  the  old 
priest  said,  patting  the  dark  head.  "  She 
will  yet  make  a  true  woman  like  her  dear 
mother.  Before  long  Arturo  will  come, 
and  the  bells  of  Old  San  Gabriel  shall  ring 
again  as  they  rang  for  the  Dona  Maria 
long  ago." 

Mariposilla  flushed  not.  A  deadly  pal 
lor  extinguished  the  healthy  glow  that 
the  light  labor  had  produced.  Turning 
disrespectfully  away,  she  darted  through 
the  open  door,  and  was  gone. 

It  was  only  after  the  old  priest  had  left 
and  the  Sandersons  had  driven  into  the 
long  green  tunnel  that  color  shone  again 
beneath  the  surface  of  her  cheeks. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  Sandersons  did  not  remain  long  at 
the  ranch.  After  their  departure  Mari- 
posilla  saddled  the  pony,  and,  bidding  us  a 
gleeful  adieu,  cantered  away  with  the 
precious  altar  cloth. 

At  parting,  the  Dona  Maria  had  given 
her  child,  for  a  surprise,  a  dozen  exquisite 
doilies  of  her  own  workmanship.  They 
were  bestowed  as  a  reward  for  the  girl's 
recent  industry,  and  she  was  permitted  to 
sell  them  with  the  altar  cloth. 

"  Shall  I  not  be  rich  ?"  she  cried,  brandish 
ing  in  excitement  a  superb  riding  whip,  a 
remnant  of  former  glories.  "  When  I  am 
come  again  the  senora  will  go  with  me  to 
Los  Angeles.  There  I  shall  buy  beautiful 
things  for  you  all." 

An  instant  later  she  was  flying  down 
the  green  tunnel.  As  she  passed  between 
the  mammoth  century  plants,  she  waved 
once  more  her  whip — and  was  gone. 

"  Dear  child!"  I  said,  as  we  entered  the 
house. 

(98) 


MARIPOSILLA.  99 

"Yes,"  said  the  mother,  "she  is  good  of 
heart.  If  only  she  would  listen  to  the 
advice  of  Father  Ramirez  and  marry 
Arturo,  we  might  all  be  once  more  joy 
ful." 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  "  I  hope  it  may  yet 
be  as  you  desire  ;  but,  if  you  will  pardon 
me,  dear  Dona  Maria,  for  speaking  plainly, 
let  no  priest  or  other  person  come  be 
tween  your  child  and  yourself.  Maripo- 
silla  is  still  so  young  that  she  is  absolutely 
frightened  at  the  thought  of  marriage. 
Let  her  develop  gradually  in  her  own 
way,  willful  though  it  may  appear. 

"  I  am  sure  that  after  a  time,  when 
Arturo  returns,  handsome  and  successful, 
she  will  accept  his  proffered  love." 

The  Dona  Maria's  great,  sad  eyes  filled 
with  happy  tears.  "  Blessings  be  on  you, 
dear  lady!"  she  said  ;  "  I  shall  ever  be 
happy  that  it  has  been  sweet  to  have  given 
you  our  home." 

Kind  Dona  Maria  !  it  was  exactly  what 
she  had  done  —  she  had  given  us  her  home. 
Generously,  she  had  taken  two  strangers 
into  her  great  motherly  heart  to  dwell. 

Mrs.  Sanderson  was  to  come  this  same 
afternoon,  for  a  lesson  in  drawn  work. 


100  MARIPOSILLA. 

As  I  dropped  into  my  accustomed  nook 
of  the  veranda,  the  industrious  Dona  Maria 
hastened  out  to  the  kitchen  to  perform  a 
remaining  duty.  Then,  before  she  had 
made  the  still  rich,  dark  hair  tidy,  and  per 
haps  said  a  prayer  to  the  little  wooden  Vir 
gin  in  the  corner  of  her  bedroom,  her  pupil 
had  arrived.  Mrs.  Sanderson  was  driven 
by  a  groom;  her  son  was  not  with  her. 

Sidney  had  gone  coursing  with  some 
people  from  East  San  Gabriel  who  kept 
hounds,  she  explained. 

I  remember  that  I  wondered  instantly  if 
the  man  had  followed  Mariposilla. 

As  it  was  impossible  to  know,  I  could 
only  appear  interested  in  the  progress  of 
the  drawn  work.  For  some  unknown 
reason  the  lesson  soon  lagged.  Mrs.  San 
derson  grew  irritable  over  her  indifferent 
success,  and  for  the  first  time  wearied  me 
a  little. 

The  lady  was  in  one  of  her  intolerant 
moods.  Her  captious  rejoinders  and  cen 
sorious  criticisms  upon  the  guests  of  the 
hotel  annoyed  me.  I  realized  for  the  first 
time  that  possibly  I  myself  might  some 
time  become  a  target  for  my  capricious 
friend's  sarcasms. 


MARIPOSILLA.  101 

Marjorie  wanted  to  go  for  a  walk,  so, 
excusing  myself,  we  departed. 

Holding  my  little  one's  hand,  I  tried 
to  forget,  in  her  sweet,  unconscious  talk, 
the  caustic  brilliancy  of  the  woman  I 
had  left.  Every  stray  dog  or  resting 
bird  that  enlivened  our  walk  delighted 
the  child.  When  we  came  to  some  ant 
hills  she  grew  flushed  and  excited  as  she 
built  a  fence  about  the  thriving  city 
to  protect  it  against  the  invasion  of  taran 
tulas. 

Ever  since  Antonio,  the  Mexican,  had 
unearthed  a  tarantula  one  morning  in 
the  corner  of  the  orchard,  Marjorie  had 
regarded  the  ugly  yet  comparatively 
harmless  creature  as  California's  one 
demon.  Romancing  in  her  play,  she 
slew  the  formidable  monsters  in  single 
imaginary  combat,  enjoying  among  the 
birds  and  biitterflies  the  same  enviable 
notoriety  that  St.  Patrick  attained  when 
the  snakes  fled  from  the  Emerald  Isle. 

Watching  my  child  at  play,  I  scarcely 
realized  that  the  short  winter  day  was 
rapidly  settling  into  twilight.  At  once 
hastening  home,  we  found  Mrs.  Sanderson 
gone  and  the  Dona  Maria  busy  preparing 


102  MARIPOSILLA. 

supper.  Half  an  hour  later  it  was  dark 
and  Mariposilla  had  not  yet  come. 

I  could  see  that  the  Dona  Maria  was 
uneasy,  for  she  went  often  to  the  door, 
once  as  far  as  the  turn  in  the  driveway. 
Supper  was  now  waiting.  The  frijoles 
were  in  steaming  readiness,  and  yet  Mari 
posilla  was  absent. 

All  were  growing  alarmed,  when  the 
dashing  of  horses'  hoofs  told  me  that  not 
one  but  two  persons  had  arrived.  In  a 
moment,  I  had  flashed  the  light  of  the  room 
through  the  open  door  into  the  night. 

I  heard  distinctly  the  sweet,  low  voice 
of  Mariposilla  and  saw  her  lifted  to  the 
ground  from  her  pony.  In  the  uncertain 
light  the  strong  arms  of  Sidney  Sander 
son  appeared  to  poise  dangerously  long 
the  girlish  form  that  resisted  not  the  delay 
of  the  transit. 

I  doubt  if  the  Dona  Maria  saw  what  I 
believed  that  I  saw,  for  at  the  time  I 
think  she  had  turned  to  speak  to  the 
anxious  grandmother;  then,  satisfied  that 
the  child  had  returned,  she  left  the  room. 

The  barking  of  the  vigilant  dogs  had 
drawn  me  instantly  to  the  door,  and  I  re 
member  how  positively  certain  I  then  felt 


MARIPOSILLA.  103 

that  Sidney  had  kissed  Mariposilla  during 
her  ground  ward  journey. 

At  the  moment  I  believed  entirely  that 
he  had  done  this  thing,  I  was  filled  with 
indignation,  and  ready  to  denounce  him 
fearlessly,  until  Mariposilla,  bounding  to 
my  side,  radiantly  innocent,  from  the  un 
certain  darkness,  implored  me  to  assist  in 
detaining  for  supper  the  kind  friend  who 
had  proved  himself  so  invaluable  during 
the  afternoon.  I  stood  bewildered  as  the 
child  proceeded  to  disarm  my  suspicions. 
Calling  her  mother  from  the  kitchen,  she 
begged  her  to  press  the  invitation  that 
Sidney  was  hesitating  to  accept. 

That  Mariposilla  could  be  acting  a  part 
seemed  impossible.  Involuntarily  I  fol 
lowed  the  girl  from  her  disappearance 
between  the  century  plants  early  in  the 
afternoon,  up  to  the  present  time,  when 
she  stood  before  me,  dazzling  and  lovely, 
telling  what  to  all  appearance  was  nothing 
but  the  truth. 

As  we  seated  ourselves  about  the  supper 
table,  I  knew  that  my  suspicions  were 
rapidly  subsiding.  Later  I  denounced 
myself  humbly,  for  allowing  my  imagina 
tion  the  absolute  freedom  of  the  night. 


104  MARIPOSILLA. 

Sidney  had  never  before  appeared  so 
manly  or  straightforward.  He  seemed 
highly  amused  at  Mariposilia's  ecstasy 
over  his  apparently  accidental  appearance 
upon  the  scene  of  her  disasters,  while  he 
ate  with  innocent  relish  the  supper  which 
the  hospitable  Dona  Maria  delighted  to 
serve. 

"  I  was  ruined  but  for  Mr.  Sanderson," 
the  Spanish  girl  explained  tragically.  "  I 
could  not  have  gone  to  Los  Angeles  with 
the  senora,  and  the  precious  things  for 
Christmas  could  not  have  been  bought ; 
because  I  had  stupidly  lost  the  altar  cloth 
and  the  gift  of  my  mother.  I  was  return 
ing  home  miserable,  without  the  money 
for  which  I  had  labored  ;  wild  with  anger 
when  I  remembered  how  I  had  gone  almost 
to  Pasadena  before  I  knew  that  my  treas 
ures  were  lost.  For  wicked  Chiquita  had 
shied  in  many  places,  and  many  strangers 
had  passed  upon  the  road,  so  I  knew  that 
to  search  in  hope  would  be  useless.  I  could 
only  weep  upon  the  neck  of  my  bad  Chi 
quita,  feeling  ashamed,  but  unable  to  for 
get  my  sorrow.  It  was  then  that  my 
friend  saw  me,  and  restored  again  my 
treasures. 


MARIPOSILLA.  105 

"Was  it  not  kind  in  our  dear  Lady  to 
send  him  so  quickly ;  almost  as  soon  as 
I  had  prayed  through  tears  one  little 
prayer  ? 

"  Oh  !  it  was  joy  to  see  again  my  things 
in  the  hand  of  a  friend,  when  I  had  be 
lieved  them  found  by  a  stranger." 

As  the  child  paused,  she  looked  con 
fidingly  at  Sidney,  who  smiled  assent  to 
what  she  had  been  saying. 

"  Yes,"  he  affirmed  with  unusual  anima 
tion,  "  I  was  permitted  to  play,  for  the  first 
time  in  my  life,  the  exalted  role  of  the 
good  old  man  who  comes  out  of  the  bushes 
just  in  time  to  save  the  beautiful  princess 
from  disaster." 

We  all  laughed,  but  Mariposilla  sank 
her  lovely  face  lower,  while  she  regarded 
her  plate  intently. 

Suddenly  she  lifted  her  great  earnest 
eyes  fearlessly  to  my  own.  They  were 
full  of  light  and  happiness.  I  doubted  no 
longer  that  she  was  innocent  of  what  I 
had  imagined. 

"  I  will  call  the  senora  early,"  Maripo 
silla  said,  when  Sidney  had  gone  and  we 
were  parting  for  the  night.  She  had  been 
dancing  about  the  room  clicking,  in  imi- 


106  MARIPOSILLA. 

tation  of  castanets,  her  cherished  gold 
pieces. 

"  Is  it  not  grand  to  be  rich  ? "  she  cried. 
"  How  happy  I  am  this  night !  I  shall 
never  be  so  happy  again." 

She  looked  strangely  prophetic  as  she 
spoke.  She  had  not  removed  her  riding 
habit,  and,  while  dancing,  she  caught  up 
gracefully  the  insubordinate  skirt,  which 
trammeled  her  exuberance.  Floating  about 
the  room,  she  appeared  unconscious  of 
everything  but  the  delights  of  her  awak 
ened  body.  Her  feet  and  arms  moved  in 
an  ecstasy  of  unrestraint.  The  abandoned 
sway  of  her  agile  frame  caught  naturally 
each  modulation  of  the  improvised  casta 
nets. 

"  Come,  dear  Butterfly,"  I  said,  when  she 
threw  herself  panting  into  a  chair,  her 
eyes  shining  with  excitement.  "  Fly 
quickly  to  bed  or  the  pretty  wings  will  be 
weary  for  the  hard,  long  to-morrow." 

"  Oh,  the  beautiful  to-morrow  !  "  she 
cried,  rapturously.  "  I  will  call  the  senora 
early  —  that  not  one  moment  of  the  pre 
cious  day  may  be  lost." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

TRUE  to  the  arrangement,  I  heard  the 
little  bare  feet  patter  across  the  hall  to  my 
door  with  the  first  gleam  of  the  bright 
December  morning. 

The  Dona  Maria  had  prepared  an  early 
breakfast,  but  Mariposilla  could  eat  noth 
ing  in  her  excitement.  The  gold  pieces 
were  carefully  counted  into  the  little 
purse,  and  the  deliberate  Antonio  was 
soundly  scolded  for  his  delay  in  bringing 
around  the  pony  hitched  to  the  old  buggy, 
which  I  earnestly  hoped  would  not  fall  to 
pieces  short  of  the  station. 

As  we  parted  from  the  Dona  Maria,  she 
requested  me  to  select  a  ready-made  frock 
for  Mariposilla,  explaining  that  her  daugh 
ter  had  been  invited  to  spend  a  week  at 
the  East  San  Gabriel  Hotel  with  Mrs. 
Sanderson. 

I  was  so  astonished  at  the  announce 
ment  that  I  could  hardly  conceal  my  sur 
prise  ;  but  the  Dona  Maria  not  appearing 
to  notice  it,  I  replied  that  I  would  be 

(107) 


108  MARIPOSILLA. 

happy  to  serve  her  ;  at  the  same  time,  I 
decided  to  take  Marjorie  and  go  myself  to 
the  hotel.  Mrs.  Sanderson  had  urged  us 
to  come  repeatedly,  and  I  felt  that  now 
the  invitation  was  imperative.  Mariposilla 
should  not  go  to  the  Sandersons'  alone. 
I  had  instituted  myself  her  guardian,  and 
I  would  protect  her  not  only  from  her  in 
experience,  but  from  unscrupulous  atten 
tions,  selfishly  bestowed. 

I  knew  that  Mrs.  Sanderson  had  secured 
the  Dona  Maria's  consent  for  her  daugh 
ter's  visit  to  the  hotel  during  my  absence 
the  previous  afternoon  ;  and  I  saw  at  once 
that  Mariposilla  had  not  known  of  the 
plan  before.  However,  her  first  demon 
strative  joy  was  smothered  in  quiet 
ecstasy.  All  the  way  to  the  city  she  was 
rapturously  solemn.  Only  her  telltale 
color  and  her  eyes  confessed  the  exciting 
dreams  which  were  filling  her  innocent 
brain. 

As  the  purchase  of,  the  dress  had  now 
become  the  mainspring  of  our  expedition, 
we  went,  at  the  termination  of  our  short 
journey,  directly  to  a  store,  announcing 
through  show  windows  its  distinctive 
claim  to  imported  novelties.  Upon  the 


MARIPOSILLA.  109 

threshold  we  were  met  by  a  smiling 
French  saleswoman,  possibly  the  only 
genuine  importation  in  stock,  but  wonder 
fully  successful  in  discounting  the  abnor 
mal  developments  of  Hebrew  physiog 
nomy  visible  in  the  ever  watchful  pro 
prietor. 

It  was  but  the  work  of  a  moment  to 
abandon  ourselves  completely  to  the  fem 
inine  joy  of  our  undertaking.  Once  within 
the  toils  of  the  Frenchwoman,  escape  ap 
peared  the  height  of  ingratitude. 

Mariposilla  was  soon  radiant  with  de 
light  as  she  tried  on,  for  the  first  time  in 
her  uneventful  life,  costume  after  costume, 
commenting  innocently  upon  the  merits 
of  one,  while  she  deplored  the  deficiencies 
of  another.  After  many  trials,  she  had 
almost  decided  to  take  a  pretty,  rich  blue 
serge,  enlivened  with  touches  of  gay 
plaided  silk,  when  the  wily  saleswoman 
brought  out  unexpectedly  from  a  per 
fumed  box  a  beautiful  dress  of  cream 
cloth. 

The  child  held  her  breath  as  she  begged 
to  try  on  the  wonderful  frock  with  the 
jaunty,  sleeveless  jacket,  worn  over  a  soft, 
creamy  silk  waist,  the  entire  costume 


110  MARIPOSILLA. 

daintily  brightened  with  bands,  embroid 
ered  in  gold  thread.  When  she  stood  ar 
rayed  before  the  long  mirror,  regarding 
affectionately  the  stylish  puff  of  the 
sleeves,  and  the  circular,  girlish  effect  of 
the  throat,  outlined  by  a  band  of  gold,  her 
simple  vanity  forgot  concealment. 

"  Mademoiselle  is  most  bewitching  !  " 
the  Frenchwoman  exclaimed.  "  She  can 
not  find  one  other  costume  so  becoming. 
Her  complexion  looks  most  perfect !  So 
harmonious  !  So  delightful !  " 

In  the  mirror  I  could  see  reflected  Mar- 
iposilla's  extravagant  joy.  She  had  never 
in  her  life  before  been  so  beautifully 
dressed.  Instinctively  she  snatched  from 
her  head  her  hat,  discovering  with  quick 
perception  that  its  somber  shabbiness  de 
tracted  from  the  general  effect  of  the 
dainty  costume.  Standing  for  a  moment 
unconscious  of  the  audience,  she  threw  a 
kiss  to  her  own  lovely  image.  Realizing 
what  she  had  done,  she  flushed  deeper  and 
turned  away. 

"  Mademoiselle  is  an  artist !  She  per 
ceives  that  she  looks  most  beautiful,"  the 
Frenchwoman  pursued.  "  She  must  cer 
tainly  buy  the  costume.  There  is  about  it 


MARIPOSILLA.  Ill 

an  air.  It  has  just  arrived,  and  will 
soon  be  sold.  Mademoiselle  must  not 
hesitate." 

For  the  first  time  the  thought  of  the 
price  presented  a  possible  drawback  to  the 
inexperienced  child.  She  turned  from  the 
mirror,  touchingly  in  earnest  in  her  in 
quiry.  "  How  much  does  it  cost  ? "  she 
asked. 

When  the  saleswoman  named  the 
amount  the  disappointed  girl  began  hero 
ically  to  remove  the  jacket.  As  she  laid 
it  aside  she  turned  instinctively  to  me  for 
sympathy. 

"  I  cannot  pay  the  price,"  she  whispered. 
"  It  would  take  all  that  I  have,  and  there 
would  be  nothing  left  to  buy  the  shawl  for 
my  mother,  or  the  slippers  for  my  grand 
mother,  or  the  doll  for  Marjorie." 

A  moment  longer  she  hesitated,  the  mist 
of  disappointment  gleaming  in  her  eyes. 
Then,  with  a  quiet  resolution  that  was 
wonderful,  she  commanded  the  saleswo 
man  to  remove  the  coveted  temptation, 
announcing  her  determination  to  take  the 
blue  dress  which  she  had  previously 
fancied. 

I  was  delighted  at  the  character  she 


112  MARIPOSILLA. 

evinced.  I  knew  how  bitterly  disap 
pointed  she  was,  and  I  was  proud  not 
only  of  her  quiet  self-control,  but  of  the 
loving  thoughtfulness  she  had  displayed 
in  remembering  that  her  little  store  of 
gold  must  be  divided  with  the  toiling 
mother,  the  old  grandmother,  and  my  own 
little  child. 

"  Do  up  both  costumes,"  I  said  in  under 
tone  to  the  saleswoman,  less  attentive  now 
that  she  had  discovered  the  extent  of  Mar- 
iposilla's  capital.  Impertinently  folding 
the  discarded  dress,  she  allowed  Maripo- 
silla  to  struggle  as  best  she  could  with  her 
buttons. 

At  my  announcement  she  flew  to  assist, 
but  I  commanded  tartly  the  packing  of 
our  purchases. 

After  we  left  the  store  I  noticed  several 
times  during  the  day  that  the  child  still  re 
membered  covetously  the  denied  frock; 
but  she  behaved  sensibly,  and  after  we 
had  bought  the  shawl,  and  the  slippers, 
and  a  Chinese  doll  for  Marjorie,  and  there 
was  still  money  for  a  sailor  hat  and  a  few 
trifles,  she  appeared  satisfied.  She  en 
joyed,  with  childish  appetite,  our  elabor 
ate  luncheon;  while  she  evinced  the  warm- 


MARIPOSILLA.  113 

est  interest  in  my  selection  of  toys  and 
books  for  Marjorie.  When  she  discovered 
that  I  had  bought  presents  for  her  mother 
and  the  grandmother,  she  seemed  to  have 
dismissed  entirely  the  disappointment  of 
the  morning. 

We  left  the  city  by  a  late  afternoon 
train,  and  already  twilight  had  ceased  to 
linger.  As  we  stepped  blindly  into  the 
early  winter  darkness  at  the  end  of  our 
short  journey,  the  voice  of  Sidney  San 
derson  sounded  pleasant  and  assuring. 

"You  see,"  he  explained,  as  he  unbur 
dened  our  far-reaching  arms,  "  I  fancied 
you  would  need  assistance.  Antonio 
gratefully  resigned  his  responsibilities, 
and  I  took  the  liberty  of  coming  myself 
with  a  more  substantial  vehicle." 

The  escape  from  the  uncertainties  of  the 
old  buggy,  to  say  nothing  of  the  eccen 
tricities  of  the  pony,  filled  me  with  grati 
tude  for  our  deliverer.  After  the  tire 
some  day,  it  was  truly  delightful  to  find 
a  friend  in  the  depths  of  the  darkness. 
As  yet  I  had  not  attained  the  indepen 
dence  exhibited  by  many  unprotected 
women  whom  I  met,  and  Sidney's  unex 
pected  courtesy  so  touched  my  heart  that 

8 


114  MARIPOSILLA. 

I  meekly  determined  to  forget  forever  my 
suspicions  of  the  evening  before. 

I  had  never  quite  overcome  my  childish 
dread  of  the  dark,  and  as  we  stepped  from 
the  train  to  the  wayside  platform  I  shall 
never  forget  the  sickening  wave  of  loneli 
ness  that  deluged  my  courage.  A  longing 
for  the  electric  lights  of  the  city,  for  the 
first  time  in  months,  fastened  upon  me; 
while  never  before  had  a  familiar  voice 
sounded  so  welcome  as  did  Sidney's,  com 
ing  from  the  uncanny  denseness  of  the 
night.  It  was  not  until  we  had  reached 
the  long  dark  tunnel  of  peppers  that  I 
regained  the  composure  which  I  felt  con 
tinually  from  my  first  day  with  the  Dona 
Maria. 

Through  the  open  door  streamed  a 
bright  welcome,  checking  effectually  my 
transient  discontent;  for  midway  in  the 
flood  of  light  danced  Marjorie  —  a  sprite 
in  white,  flushed  and  joyous,  she  watched 
for  our  return. 

Within,  the  grape  roots  had  been  piled 
high.  The  supper  table  shone  with 
unusual  luster.  Old  silver  and  rich  red 
roses  proclamed  the  night  a  gala  one, 
and  the  kind  Dona  Maria,  in  her  best 


MARIPOSILLA.  115 

black  silk,  bade  us  the  old-time  welcome 
of  Christmas  Eve. 

The  grandmother,  resplendent  in  great 
gold  ear-rings,  chattered  garrulously  in 
Spanish,  while  Mrs.  Sanderson  smiled 
indulgently  and  regally  upon  all. 

The  lady  was  in  demi-evening  toilet, 
and  the  delicate  tone  of  her  French- 
gray  gown,  embellished  with  lace  and 
caught  at  the  half  low  throat  by  flash 
ing  jewels,  was  to  Mariposilla  a  reve 
lation.  To  the  simple  child  the  hand 
some  woman  appeared  a  wonderful  vis 
ion,  from  which  she  could  not  withdraw 
her  eyes.  For  the  first  time  she  beheld 
Mrs.  Sanderson  in  her  most  captivating 
role;  the  conventional  habit  of  day, 
exchanged  for  one  of  rare  artistic  beauty, 
had  given  to  the  lady  a  sudden  fascin 
ating  youth  which  was  startling.  In  the 
less  impertinent  light  of  evening,  the 
encroachments  of  time  were  effaced. 
The  aristocratic  features  and  dazzling 
teeth  belied  the  years  of  the  woman 
whose  supreme  object  had  been  their 
preservation.  The  beautiful  hands,  ablaze 
with  jewels,  seemed  to  smite  the  humble 
room  with  light,  when  the  lady  caressed, 


116  MARIPOSILLA. 

with  amused  vanity,  the  bewildered  child 
she  had  so  perfectly  enthralled. 

"Fly,  Butterfly,"  she  coaxed,  as  Mari- 
posilla  lingered  by  her  side;  "  Sid  is 
starving!  and  so  are  we  all.  Cast  aside 
the  old,  dull  frock  and  dazzle  us  in  the 
new  one." 

I  had  always  noticed  that  Mrs.  San 
derson  was  exuberant  in  the  evening. 
To  her  theatrical  nature  there  was  some 
thing  exhilarating  in  the  flicker  of  arti 
ficial  lights.  When  high  noon  told  her 
unpleasant  truths,  she  forgot  them  the 
same  evening,  amid  shaded  lamps  and 
candles.  An  open  fire  could  warm  her 
usually  chilly  sympathies,  until  she  some 
times  forgot  her  selfishness  in  genuine 
kindness.  At  such  times,  occasionally, 
she  grew  honest,  and  often  liberal. 

She  had  declared  that  misfortunes  and 
ugly  surroundings  would  soon  make  her 
a  devil.  It  was  only  when  deceived  by 
luxury  and  flattery  that  she  was  capable 
of  good  thoughts. 

"  I  am  naturally  depraved  before  I 
have  had  my  bath  and  my  early  coffee," 
she  would  say,  jestingly,  to  the  amaze 
ment  of  the  literal,  whom  she  delighted 


MARIPOSILLA.  117 

to  shock.  "  Sid,  the  scamp,  knows  better 
than  to  cross  me  before  luncheon.  In 
the  evening  he  is  safe.  When  he  sees 
that  I  am  in  the  ecstasies  of  dotage,  a 
perfect  old  egotist,  happy  with  illusions, 
he  imposes  upon  me  shamefully." 

Strange,  worldly  woman  that  she  was, 
it  was  impossible  to  condemn  her  bril 
liancy. 

She  had  told  us  that  her  great  grand 
mother  was  a  Frenchwoman  of  rank, 
and  as  I  regarded  her  this  Christmas 
Eve,  I  seemed  to  see  the  proud  dame  of 
the  fallen  monarchy  living  again  in  the 
imperious  form  of  her  descendant. 

I  had  not  completed  my  hasty  toilet 
when  Mariposilla  came  flying  to  my 
door,  breathless.  She  held  in  her  arms 
the  dress  of  cream  and  gold. 

"See,"  she  cried;  "they  have  made  a 
mistake!  and  I  must  again  part  with  the 
beautiful  dress.  Can  I  not  wear  it  this 
once  that  my  friends  may  see  it?" 

I  had  not  the  heart  to  rebuke  her; 
she  was  so  lovely  in  her  ignorance.  I 
could  only  smile  indulgently,  as  I  bade 
her  enjoy  the  frock,  which  was  to  be  her 
Christmas  present. 


118  MARIPOSILLA. 

"  Dear,  kind  Senora,"  she  exclaimed, 
passionately  kissing"  my  hand;  "  I  will 
indeed  be  good!  I  will  indeed  learn 
fast." 

"  Very  well,"  I  replied,  "  if  you  are 
good  I  shall  always  be  glad  that  I  was 
able  to  please  you.  But  come,  dear 
child,"  I  urged;  "make  haste,  for  the 
Dona  Maria  is  calling.  She  will  be 
deeply  annoyed  if  we  allow  her  supper 
to  cool." 

It  was  astonishing  how  quickly  Mari- 
posilla  complied  with  my  command. 
Her  transformation  appeared  to  occupy 
but  a  moment.  And  never  was  the 
awakening  of  an  actual  butterfly  more 
surprising  or  triumphant. 

Her  joy  in  her  enhanced  beauty  was 
rapturous  and  innocent.  When  we 
entered  the  living-room  she  hugged  her 
self  with  delightful  vanity  as  she  ap 
proached  the  astonished  Dona  Maria. 

"  Am  I  not  grand  ?  Am  I  not  beauti 
ful  ? "  she  demanded.  "  Is  not  my  dress 
more  rich  than  the  dresses  in  the  green 
chest  of  my  grandmother  ?  Be  happy 
with  me,  dear  mother.  Kiss  thy  child, 
and  give  her  at  last  the  little  necklace  of 


MARIPOSILLA.  119 

opals.  See,"  she  continued,  coaxingly, 
peering  into  a  mirror,  "see  how 
sweetly  the  necklace  will  lie  against  my 
throat;  just  as  my  beautiful  Aunt  Lola 
once  wore  it,"  she  entreated  in  Spanish. 

"  Hush,  foolish  child,"  the  Dona  Maria 
commanded  sternly;  for  at  the  first  men 
tion  of  the  necklace  the  grandmother  had 
shown  ominous  signs  of  dissatisfaction. 
When  Mariposilla  persistently  mentioned 
the  name  of  the  dead  Lola  the  old  woman 
screamed  angrily,  growing  each  moment 
more  excited,  until  the  patient  Dona  Maria 
coaxed  her  gently  from  the  room. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  cried  the  penitent 
child,  when  the  door  closed  upon  the  now 
shrieking  and  unmanageable  Spanish  wo 
man.  "  I  am  so  sorry  that  I  compelled  my 
grandmother  to  make  a  noise.  She  ap 
proves  not  of  joy;  and  my  mother,  too,  is 
often  sad  when  I  am  happy;  for  she  then 
thinks  only  of  my  dead  father  and  the  evil 
fortunes  which  have  befallen  us." 

For  answer,  Mrs.  Sanderson  drew  the 
unhappy  girl  within  the  charmed  circle  of 
her  arms.  With  her  soft,  jeweled  hands 
she  clasped  about  her  throat  a  pretty 
string  of  gold  beads.  "  Say  no  more 


120  MARIPOSILLA. 

about  the  opal  necklace,"  she  said;  "the 
little  beads  will  do  until  you  are  older." 

When  the  Dona  Maria  returned,  Mari- 
posilla  had  recovered  her  spirits.  She  was 
,  talking  gaily  with  Sidney,  unconscious  of 
everything  but  the  delight  of  the  moment. 
As  her  mother  approached,  she  flew  to  her 
side,  that  she  might  admire  the  necklace 
she  had  just  received.  With  pretty  en 
treaty  she  begged  the  Dona  Maria  to 
thank  once  more  the  dear  friends  who  had 
given  her  so  much  joy 

For  a  moment  the  mother  seemed  to 
forget  everything  but  the  touching  happi 
ness  of  her  child.  A  tender  light  shone 
in  the  great,  dark  eyes  when  she  thanked 
us  in  a  little  speech  displaying  the  fervent 
characteristics  of  her  simple  nature. 

The  supper  was  now  steaming  upon  the 
table.  A  great  platter  of  chicken  tamales 
had  been  prepared,  as  none  but  the  Dona 
Maria  knew  how  to  prepare  them.  The 
fragrant  coffee,  the  dainty  biscuit  and  the 
rich  preserves  and  cream,  tempted  us  de 
lightfully  with  the  unconventional  perfec 
tion  of  Spanish  hospitality. 

The  only  restraint  upon  our  complete 
enjoyment  was  the  consciousness  of  the 


MARIPOSILLA.  121 

protesting  grandmother.  Mrs.  Sanderson, 
I  perceived,  was  intensely  annoyed. 

Her  hatred  of  the  imbecile  tyranny  of 
age  was  plain  when  the  Dona  Maria  ex 
cused  herself,  finding  it  impossible  to 
remain  longer  away  from  her  unreason 
able  charge,  now  protesting  in  methodical 
shrieks. 

"  Be  happy,  dear  friends,"  she  said. 
"  Mind  not  the  infirmities  of  my  mother. 
I  will  soon  soothe  her  —  in  time  —  to 
sleep;  when  she  will  forget  for  a  season 
the  sorrows  of  her  life.  Make  free  with 
all  that  is  ours,  and  enjoy,  if  possible,  the 
supper  which  I  have  prepared.  My  daugh 
ter  will"  serve,  and  may  the  night  be 
happy!" 

Dear,  brave  Dona  Maria!  how  could  we 
reverence  her  enough?  How  forget  in 
mirth  the  pathos  of  her  noble  unselfish 
ness? 

Long  after  the  Sandersons  had  gone, 
long  after  Mariposilla  had  ceased  to  re 
joice  over  her  splendid  fortunes,  forget 
ting  in  the  natural  slumbers  of  youth  the 
caressing  pressure  of  the  gold  beads,  or 
the  sweet  secret  of  the  little  bracelet  hug 
ging  her  arm,  that  she  must  not  show,  but 


122  MARIPOSILLA. 

could  kiss  in  solitude,  long  after  the  gor 
geous  air  castles,  built  by  the  ignorant, 
innocent  young  architect,  had  crumbled 
for  the  night,  and  I  had  ceased  to  listen  to 
the  faint  noises  from  the  adjoining  room, 
did  the  patient  Dona  Maria  keep  her  vigil. 

As  I  dropped  to  sleep  I  heard  her  tender 
voice  soothing  like  an  infant  the  aged 
mother,  who  at  last  sank  away  into  a  long, 
irresistible  slumber. 

When  the  clear,  yellow  dawn  of  Christ 
mas  morn  awakened  the  cocks  of  the  cor 
ral,  I  heard  the  Dona  Maria  knocking  at 
her  daughter's  door.  Opening  my  own  I 
inquired  if  her  mother  still  slept,  begging 
that  I  might  relieve  for  a  time  her  patient 
watch. 

"  The  Senora  is  kind,"  she  said,  "  but  my 
mother  will  now  sleep  for  many  hours. 
The  Senora  need  not  fear;  she  will  scream 
no  more.  She  has  taken  the  sleeping 
potion,  and  now  I  am  free  to  go  with  my 
child  to  the  early  celebration." 

Mariposilla  was  now  awake.  Her  hair 
had  fallen  over  her  shoulders  and  the  little 
necklace  still  encircled  her  throat.  About 
her  eyes  lingered  the  rosy  flush  of  her 
unbroken  sleep.  She  sat  up  as  we  entered, 


MARIPOSILLA.  123 

pushing  quickly  beneath  her  nightgown 
sleeve  a  tiny  rim  of  gold. 

"  Come,  my  child,"  said  the  Dona  Maria, 
"make  haste  and  prepare  for  the  early 
celebration.  Our  sufferer  sleeps  at  last, 
and  we  may  now  go  together  to  the  church 
and  thank  once  more  the  sweet  Mother 
for  the  birth  of  the  Holy  Child." 

I  went  back  to  my  room  as  Mariposilla 
began  to  dress.  A  few  moments  later  I 
heard  the  outer  door  close  gently,  and 
knew  that  the  Dona  Maria  and  her  child 
had  gone. 

A  strange  fear  fastened  upon  me,  driv 
ing  me  irresistibly  to  the  adjoining  door. 
I  opened  it.  The  darkened  room  was  a 
fascinating  terror.  I  entered,  and  ap 
proached  the  bed  of  the  sleeping  Spanish 
woman.  Her  stillness  was  terrible.  The 
old  horror  seized  me.  I  felt  once  more 
the  power  of  my  old  enemy.  Death 
seemed  to  be  facing  me  again.  The  same 
cruel,  dreadful  certainty  that  I  knew 
so  well!  I  staggered  forward  to  flee.  I 
must  have  fainted,  for  when  I  revived  I 
was  lying  upon  the  floor  in  front  of  the 
little  wooden  Virgin.  The  blessed  sun 
light  was  peeping  from  the  sides  of  the 


124  MARIPOSILLA. 

window  curtains,  while  above  the  head  of 
the  image  there  hung  a  golden  beam. 

I  arose  and  stood  calmly  by  the  bed  of 
the  Spanish  woman. 

The  linen  was  spotless  ;  the  pillow  cases 
and  night-dress  of  the  sleeper  elaborate 
with  the  drawn  needlework  of  the  Dona 
Maria.  The  snowy  whiteness  of  the 
counterpane  contrasted  strangely  with  the 
bronzed,  weather-beaten  features  and 
large,  gnarled  hands  of  the  woman 
beneath,  so  like  a  mummy  that  her 
breathing  alone  seemed  human. 

Yet  regular  and  warm  as  an  infant's, 
her  breath  issued  through  her  half-open 
mouth.  No  muscle  stirred.  No  sound 
broke  the  silence  ;  until,  in  the  distance, 
floating  above  the  orange  groves,  and  on 
to  the  Christmas  day,  rang  the  bells  of 
old  San  Gabriel. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A  SOOTHING  peace  possessed  me,  as  I 
listened  to  the  ringing  of  the  old  bells.  I 
left  quietly  the  bedside  of  the  aged  sleeper 
to  kneel  a  moment  later  by  that  of  my 
child.  The  healthy  loveliness  which  I 
beheld  completed  my  restoration.  As  I 
kissed  the  dainty,  dimpled  hands,  and  laid 
my  cheek  against  the  yellow  curls,  her 
warm,  sweet  breath  infused  my  flagging 
circulation  with  the  energy  of  love. 

I  no  longer  forgot  my  plans  for  the 
morning.  Hastily  dressing,  I  gathered  as 
quickly  as  possible  the  various  mysterious 
parcels  secreted  about  my  room,  glancing 
occasionally  at  Marjorie  to  be  sure  that  no 
possum  slumbers  hid  beneath  deceitful 
lashes.  Satisfied  that  my  schemes  were 
unsuspected,  I  fled  eagerly,  with  ladened 
arms,  from  the  silent  house  out  into  the 
crisp,  inspiring  air  of  the  sacred  morning. 

The  sun  was  now  well  up.  As  it  rose,  it 
touched  with  magical  radiance  the  most 

(125) 


126  MARIPOSILLA. 

distant  reaches  of  the  Christmas  land 
scape. 

Reverently  I  lingered,  enthralled  with 
the  breath  of  Judea.  Standing  beneath 
the  old  palms  I  listened  to  an  anthem,  led 
by  a  lark  and  sustained  by  the  lowing 
cattle,  who  seemed  to  tell,  as  at  first,  the 
birth  of  the  long-expected  Saviour;  while 
the  rosebuds  reflected  from  jeweled  hearts 
his  pure  parables. 

About  me  the  purple  mountains 
gleamed  with  the  fresh,  cool  touch  of 
the  night.  Between  twin  spurs,  resting 
against  the  bosom  of  the  sky,  snow  had 
gathered,  until  in  the  distant  outline  a 
pure,  white  lamb  appeared,  slain  for  the 
holy  festival. 

Old  Baldy,  the  high  priest  of  the  morn 
ing,  until  now  had  withheld  the  fullness 
of  his  majesty.  Suddenly  the  sun  with 
golden  shafts  rent  far  asunder  the 
misty  veil  that  had  enveloped  his  hoary 
summit.  Transfigured  with  supernatural 
glory,  the  morning  seemed  to  pause  for 
one  still  moment,  as  if  to  receive  his 
benediction. 

"  I,  too,  have  been  to  the  early  celebra 
tion,"  I  said  to  my  heart,  as  I  turned 


MARIPOSILLA.  137 

reluctantly  to  the  pressing  demands  of 
the  now  inaugurated  day. 

Hastily  I  hid  the  packages  in  various 
secret  nooks,  while  -I  decorated  a  great 
white-rose  tree  with  cornucopias  and 
knicknacks. 

Hardly  had  the  last  bauble  been  hung 
upon  the  magnificent  Christmas  tree  when 
I  heard  the  plaintive  voice  of  my  child. 

I  hurried  to  the  house  to  find  the  little 
girl  upon  the  bed,  struggling  bravely  with 
her  shoes  and  stockings. 

"  Did  the  fairies  come? "  she  demanded, 
springing  into  my  arms  for  her  Christmas 
kiss. 

For  my  answer  I  carried  her  to  the  win 
dow,  through  which  she  beheld  the  white 
rose-tree. 

"See,"  I  said,  "how  good  are  the  good 
little  fairies  to  good  little  girls." 

"  May  I  go  as  soon  as  I  am  dressed  and 
pick  the  tree? "  the  child  besought,  her 
eyes  beaming  with  expectation. 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "you  may  go,  but  I  think 
the  fairies  would  rather  you  would  wait 
until  our  kind  Dona  Maria  and  Maripo- 
silla  return  from  church.  The  Dona 
Maria  must  be  very  weary;  she  has  not 


128  MARIPOSILLA. 

slept  all  night  for  watching  at  the  bed 
side  of  the  grandmother.  I  think  I  know 
a  little  girl  who  might  help  to  get  break 
fast,  so  that  when  the  Dona  Maria  returns 
she  can  refresh  herself  at  once  with  some 
hot  coffee.  I  wonder  if  the  little  girl's 
name  is  Marjorie?  Or  perhaps  I  am  mis 
taken;  I  may  have  forgotten  her  name." 

Marjorie  took  one  long,  regretful  look 
at  the  rose-tree;  then  from  her  baby  heart 
there  escaped  a  tragic  little  sigh  that  was 
half  a  sob.  "  Please,  dear  mamma,"  she 
said,  bravely,  "  I  will  mind  the  fairies." 

Fortunately  for  both  mother  and  child, 
their  resolution  was  not  long  tested. 

It  took  but  a  few  moments  to  prepare 
the  toast  and  coffee,  for  Antonio  had  un 
expectedly  lighted  the  fire  and  filled  the 
water  kettle.  Before  our  simple  meal  was 
quite  ready  the  Dona  Maria  and  Maripo- 
silla  had  arrived. 

It  was  amusing  to  witness  the  Dona 
Maria's  mortification  when  she  perceived 
that  I  had  cooked  the  breakfast;  her  dis 
tress  was  genuine  when  she  declared  that 
the  Senora  would  certainly  be  ill.  "  I  am 
ashamed  that  I  should  have  remained  so 
long,"  she  apologized.  "The  Senora  should 


MARIPOSILLA.  129 

not  have  arisen  until  our  return.  It  is 
ill  fortune  that  she  has  not  permitted 
me  to  prepare  her  a  dainty  holiday  break 
fast." 

"  Dear  Dona  Maria,"  I  entreated,  "  why 
will  you  deplore  what  is  already  accom 
plished?  I  have  told  you  often  that  a 
simple  breakfast  is  all  that  I  require,  and 
our  frolic  has  given  me  a  fine  appetite. 
See,"  I  urged,  "  is  my  toast  not  a  delicious 
brown?  Make  haste  and  enjoy  the  coffee, 
or  I  shall  be  greatly  disappointed." 

"TheSenora  is  most  kind,"  the  Dona 
Maria  replied,  seating  herself  submis 
sively.  With  her  dark  hand  she  brushed 
away  a  tear.  "  We  are  ever  happy,  my 
daughter  and  I,  that  we  have  known  one 
so  good  and  gentle,"  she  added,  feelingly. 

Marjorie  and  Mariposilla  had  by  this 
time  declared  it  impossible  to  resist  longer 
the  fascinations  of  the  rose-tree,  tan- 
talizingly  visible  through  the  open  door. 
Gaining  permission,  they  scampered 
away,  followed  by  the  hounds.  The  dogs 
appeared  to  understand  the  occasion. 
They  ran  forward,  doubling  over  with  ex 
citement,  as  though  expecting  to  find  a 
jack-rabbit  suspended  from  a  bough  of  the 


130  MARIPOSILLA. 

Christmas  tree.  The  picture  was  a  pretty 
one,  and  none  of  us  enjoyed  it  more  than 
the  Dona  Maria,  who  soon  left  the  table 
and  joined  the  children  in  their  merry 
hunt  for  the  hidden  parcels. 

Marjorie  led  her  about  at  will,  compell 
ing  the  sedate  woman  to  stoop  and  caper 
as  she  had  not  done  for  years.  When  the 
gifts  had  all  been  discovered,  we  arranged 
them  in  rows  upon  the  Bermuda  grass, 
preparatory  to  the  untying  of  strings  and 
ribbons. 

Marjorie's  row  was  long  and  diversified, 
while  Mariposilla  declared  that  she  had 
never  before  received  so  many  gifts  at  one 
time. 

"  It  is  because  we  are  so  good,"  Marjorie 
explained;  "for  you  know  that  fairies 
never  bring  presents  to  naughty  children, 
only  just  stones  and  mud." 

We  all  laughed  as  we  continued  our  oc 
cupation,  each  untying  in  turn  a  parcel 
marked  with  the  name  of  the  recipient 
and  the  good  fairy  who  had  been  respon 
sible  for  its  safe  delivery  from  the  foot  of 
Old  Baldy. 

With  each  discovery  the  air  was  flooded 
with  shrieks  of  approval.  Marjorie  re- 


MARIPOSILLA.  131 

joiced  over  every  little  treasure,  while 
Mariposilla  embraced  us  excitedly  at  each 
happy  surprise. 

Even  the  Dona  Maria  grew  artlessly 
gay,  appearing  to  forget  that  the  grand 
mother  might  soon  awaken,  to  be  cared 
for  like  an  infant,  and  that  Christmas  was 
now  but  a  colorless  counterfeit  of  years 
past. 

"  Ah  ! "  exclaimed  the  sympathetic 
mother,  when  Mariposilla  held  up  for  ad 
miration  a  little  silver  bracelet  ;  "  it  is  al 
most  like  the  happiness  of  the  old  days. 
Not  the  same  ;  for  the  Spanish  gave  not 
gifts,  but  the  good  cheer  is  most  sweet. 
I  grieve," she  continued,  "that  the  Senora 
and  my  child  should  not  have  known 
those  once  glad  days  —  now  gone  forever. 
Then,  all  went  about  from  rancho  to 
rancho,  free  from  sorrow ;  always  joy 
ful  in  abundance.  But  the  holiday  is  no 
more  what  it  once  was  —  so  full  of  mirth 
and  sweet  enjoyment  for  both  old  and 
young;  yet  ever  sacred,  for  none  dared  for 
get  to  go  to  the  old  church  when  the  bells 
rang  lovingly  the  birth  of  the  Holy  Child. 

"  Dear  Senora,"  she  continued,  her  dark 
eyes  intensifying  with  awakening  memor- 


132  MARIPOSILLA. 

ies  ;  "  could  you  have  seen  the  beauty  of 
the  old  Spanish  life,  then,  with  thy  gentle 
heart,  tears  would  now  fall  for  those  of  us 
who  are  left." 

With  increasing  melancholy  she  ex 
plained  that  her  child  refused  to  grieve 
for  the  departed  glory  of  her  family. 

"  I  am  often  miserable  when  I  remember 
how  different  I  once  felt,  so  full  of  joy  and 
pride  when  I  dreamed  that  my  children 
would  thank  always  the  sweet  Mother  for 
the  nobility  of  their  father's  name.  Yet  I 
blame  not  Mariposilla;  for  she  saw  not  my 
husband,  Don  Arturo.  Her  life  was  too 
late  to  know  of  his  goodness  and  beauty. 
I  could  forgive  always  her  thoughtless  in 
difference,  if  only  sometimes  she  would 
weep  when  I  show  her  the  riding  jacket 
embroidered  with  gold,  and  the  botas  of 
exceeding  richness,  once  worn  by  her  dear 
father.  But  she  is  cold,  and  understands 
not  what  she  has  lost.  She  would  even 
profane  the  precious  shawls  of  her  grand 
mother,  urging  that  some  be  sold  to  en 
vious  Americans  for  gold  !  " 

Poor  Dona  Maria!  I  feared  that  her 
transient  happiness  had  fled.  But  she 
soon  controlled  the  dash  of  bitterness  that 


MARIPOSILLA.  133 

tinctured  for  a  moment  her  reminiscences, 
and  continued  to  describe  the  wonderful 
days,  once  enjoyed  by  her  now  scattered 
and  Americanized  people. 

"  Think  not,  dear  Senora,  that  I  am  un 
grateful,"  she  begged,  sweetly.  "  It  is  per 
haps  best  that  my  child  should  grow  like 
the  Americans.  Her  older  kinsmen  will 
soon  be  gone  ;  the  younger  ones,  like  her 
self,  care  not  to  continue  in  the  old  way, 
seeking  to  marry  with  strangers,  forget 
ting  often  even  the  religion  of  their  child 
hood." 

I  was  loath  to  interrupt  the  gentle  com 
plaints  of  the  Dona  Maria ;  for  beneath 
the  shadow  of  the  venerable  palms  her 
sweet,  low,  sympathetic  voice  enthralled 
me  with  realistic  glimpses  of  her  pictur 
esque  past. 

Tears  dropped  upon  the  brown  cheeks 
when  she  told  how  she  had  knelt  for  the 
communion  that  same  morning,  alone  with 
her  child,  surrounded  no  longer  by  dear, 
familiar  faces. 

"How  different  it  once  was!"  she  ex 
plained  eagerly.  "  How  sad,  yet  good,  to 
remember  how  once  the  altar  rail  was 
thronged  with  near  relatives  and  loving 


184  MARIPOSILLA. 

friends.  To  think  how  joyful  were  our 
hearts  when  we  had  received  and  could 
go  absolved  from  the  cold  church  into  the 
warm  sunshine,  there  to  speak  pleasant 
kind  words  and  wish  to  each  other  a  merry 
day.  How  beautiful  to  listen  to  the  gay 
greetings  of  the  young,  to  grasp  the  hands 
of  dear  ones,  and  hear,  upon  all  sides, 
'  Feliz  noche  buena! ' ' 

"Come,"  she  said,  rising;  "my  mother 
still  sleeps,  and  I  will  show  you  the  silken 
shawls,  the  lace  mantillas,  and  the  em 
broidered  garments  of  our  family." 

Gladly  I  followed  her  to  the  little  cham 
ber,  where  she  opened  reverently  a  huge 
chest,  from  which  she  drew,  one  by  one, 
the  beautiful  relics  of  her  prosperity. 

With  loving  care  she  took  from  scented 
wrappings  gorgeous  shawls  of  crepe, 
blooming  on  both  sides  with  rich,  yet 
delicately  wrought  flowers,  mantillas  of 
wonderful  lace,  and  dainty  bits  of  Spanish 
finery,  that  brought  to  my  lips  repeated 
exclamations  of  wonder  and  delight. 

"  I  am  happy  to  have  shown  the  Sefiora 
my  treasures,"  she  said,  flushing  with 
pleasure,  as  she  drew,  from  a  silken  bag 
embroidered  with  silver,  a  scarf  which  she 


MARIPOSILLA.  135 

had  reserved  until  the  last,  as  the  most 
precious  and  beautiful  heirloom  in  her 
possession. 

Draping  it  pathetically  about  her  som 
ber  figure,  she  urged  me  to  admire  the 
delicate  green  which  displayed  so  mar 
vellously  the  butterflies  embroidered  in 
pink  and  gold,  studded  with  real  jewels. 

"  See!  "  she  cried,  caressing  tenderly  the 
clinging  fabric;  "is  it  not  wonderful  !  So 
bright  and  sparkling  after  all  the  sad 
years!" 

"  The  Senora  will  understand  how  dear 
is  the  scarf  of  the  butterflies,  when  I  relate 
to  her  its  story,  explaining  how  it  came 
from  Spain,  the  gift  of  my  husband's 
grandmother;  how  I  wore  it  to  church 
upon  our  wedding  day  to  shield  from  the 
sun  the  neck  and  arms  that  were  once  my 
foolish  pride;  how,  when  we  were  return 
ing  from  our  marriage,  mounted  upon 
horses  decked  with  roses  and  splendid 
with  silver  and  jewels,  my  husband,  desir 
ous  that  all  should  see  the  magnificence 
of  my  satin  gown,  caught  away  playfully 
the  scarf,  throwing  it  about  his  own 
shoulders,  while  he  declared  that  all 
must  behold  the  beauty  of  his  bride.  After 


136  -MARIPOSILLA. 

a  time,  when  our  child  was  born,  my  hus 
band  brought  again  the  scarf  of  the  but 
terflies,  commanding  'my  mother  to  wrap 
it  about  our  boy,  that  he  might  carry  him 
upon  the  veranda  to  be  admired  by  our 
assembled  household. 

"  Ah!  Senora,  was  not  my  husband  proud 
the  day  he  went  with  a  company  to  the 
church  for  the  christening  of  our  child  ? 
Many  relatives  had  arrived  from  Los 
Angeles  and  from  Ventura,  so  that  our 
house  was  overflowing  with  cheer.  The 
kitchen  and  the  court  were  gay  with  pre 
parations  from  morning  until  evening. 
Although  I  could  not  go  myself  to  the 
church,  my  husband  told  me  joyfully  how 
the  dear  old  Father  who  had  married  us 
the  year  before  took  in  his  arms  our  boy, 
blessing  him  with  double  certainty  when 
he  kissed  his  little  cheek. 

"  But  too  beautiful  to  live  was  our  baby, 
and  in  one  short  year  we  gave  him  tear 
fully  to  the  sweet  Mother  of  Heaven,  who 
heard  not  our  prayers  when  our  little  one 
lay  ill.  Two  more  sons,  grown  almost  to 
manhood,  we  lost;  and  then  my  brave  hus 
band,  who  had  ever  grieved  sorely  for  his 
boys,  went  too. 


MARIPOSILLA.  137 

"  I  alone  remained  with  my  mother  and 
my  unborn  child,  who  came  not  until  her 
father  had  been  five  months  dead. 

"  See,"  she  said,  wiping  away  the  tears 
that  suffused  her  great,  sad  eyes;  "see, 
dear  Seiiora,  the  little  petticoats  of  my 
dead  babies,  all  now  yellow  with  age. 

"Who  will  care,  when  I  am  gone,  for 
the  worthless  garments  of  my  little  ones  ? 
Surely  not  Mariposilla,  for  she  understands 
not  why  I  should  still  grieve,  after  the  long 
years  that  have  passed. 

"  She  loves,  however,  the  scarf  of  the 
butterflies,  and  begs  often  to  possess  it. 
When  I  am  taken  she  may  do  as  she 
desires  with  it,  for  it  will  then  be  her  own, 
to  treasure  or  to  resign  unto  strangers. 

"  Yet  I  pray  that  she  may  always  hold 
sacred  the  gift  of  her  father's  grand 
mother;  for  she,  too,  was  carried  to  her 
christening  wrapped  in  the  beautiful  shawl. 

"Well  do  I  remember  how  sore  was 
my  heart  the  day  that  my  mother  went 
alone  to  the  church  with  my  fatherless 
child.  So  ill  was  I,  that  I  cared  not 
even  to  name  my  little  daughter,  entreat 
ing  my  mother  to  consult  with  the 
priest,  who  might  choose  for  us. 


138  MARIPOSILLA. 

"But  my  good  mother  was  wiser  than 
I,  and  when  she  had  thought  much  she 
remembered  the  butterflies  upon  the 
beautiful  scarf,  and  how  my  husband, 
Don  Arturo,  had  delighted  to  behold 
them  glistening  in  the  sunlight  when  I 
first  wore  the  shawl  to  my  bridal;  how, 
afterwards,  he  insisted  that  his  children 
should  first  be  shown  to  his  household 
wrapped  in  the  splendid  gift  of  his 
grandmother.  Wisely  she  remembered 
these  things,  and  when,  weeks  after, 
I  asked  her  the  name  of  my  child,  I 
wept  for  joy  when  she  said,  '  She  is 
Mariposilla.'  " 

Tenderly  the  dark  hand  folded  and 
replaced  in  its  embroidered  bag  the 
precious  scarf  of  the  butterflies.  Tear 
fully  she  laid  it  away  by  the  side  of  the 
sparkling  riding- jacket  and  gorgeous 
botas  of  the  dead  Arturo,  while  she  rev 
erently  closed  the  old  chest,  relegating 
to  its  scented  depths  the  fading  rem 
nants  of  her  former  grandeur,  together 
with  the  sad,  sweet  memories  of  her 
poetic  life. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

IT  had  been  arranged  that  we  should 
go  to  San  Gabriel  late  in  the  afternoon 
of  Christmas  Day. 

As  the  time  approached  for  our  de 
parture,  I  grew  more  reluctant  to  leave 
the  ranch.  I  was  still  loath  to  submit 
to  the  restraints  of  a  hotel.  Had  I  dared, 
I  would  have  abandoned  the  visit.  It 
irritated  me  to  submit  heroically  to 
exile  from  Paradise,  but  there  now 
seemed  no  alternative. 

The  little  valise  had  been  packed  for 
hours;  the  precious  evening  frock  safely 
folded  away  in  its  scented  wrappings, 
together  with  little  bits  of  finery  to  be 
worn  at  the  hotel.  Mariposilla,  radiant 
and  expectant,  counted  the  moments 
which  delayed  our  departure. 

Even  the  grandmother  .was  now  com 
fortably  restored,  having  awakened  from 
her  long  sleep  fresh  and  docile. 

No  vestige  of  excuse  remained  to 
justify  a  change  in  our  plans.  An 

(139) 


140  MARIPOSILLA. 

ordained  agreement  of  trifles  appeared 
conspiring  with  Fate. 

As  we  bade  farewell  to  the  DoSa 
Maria,  I  found  it  impossible  to  resist  the 
unhappy  presentiments  which  thronged 
our  departure. 

When  we  drove  away  with  Sidney  and 
passed  between  the  great  century  plants, 
a  sudden  fear  seized  my  vacillating  will. 
I  knew  in  an  instant  that  I  dreaded  the 
possible  consequences  of  what  I  had 
undertaken. 

In  the  front  seat  of  the  trap,  with 
Sidney,  sat  Mariposilla,  transformed  by 
excessive  happiness  and  conventional 
garb  into  another  creature.  Never  again 
would  she  be  the  child  she  had  been 
even  that  same  morning,  when  she  had 
romped  upon  the  Bermuda  grass  with 
Marjorie,  flushed  with  pleasure  over  her 
Christmas  trifles.  Now  another  flush 
was  upon  her  cheeks,  another  light  shone 
in  her  eyes;  for,  even  as  I  looked,  Mari 
posilla  had  bidden  farewell  forever  to 
the  restraints  of  her  simple,  beautiful 
childhood. 

Had  I  created  a  scene  by  turning  back 
in  our  journey  into  the  world,  it  is 


MARIPOSILLA.  141 

hardly  possible  that  I  could  have  obvi 
ated  the  difficulties  of  Mariposilla's 
emancipation  from  the  life  she  had 
determined  to  escape. 

As  I  continued  to  face  the  responsibil 
ities  of  her  case  I  grew  more  tranquil.  I 
reasoned  that  it  was  perhaps  best  not  to 
resist  the  unmistakable  leadings  of  Fate, 
which  seemed  to  point  to  a  destiny  for 
the  girl  different  from  the  one  desired  by 
the  Dona  Maria.  Her  remarkable  beauty, 
the  truly  good  blood  which  ran  in  her 
veins,  to  say  nothing  of  her  laudable  am 
bition  and  determination  not  to  accept  a 
husband  dictated  by  the  priest  or  her  rel 
atives,  justified  me  in  the  belief  that  she 
had  outgrown  the  old  life,  which  was  now 
each  day  growing  more  and  more  intoler 
able. 

With  care  and  advantages,  it  seemed 
not  only  credible,  but  certain,  that  Mari- 
posilla  might  eventually  satisfy  her  am 
bition. 

The  longer  I  thought  upon  the  subject, 
the  more  I  felt  it  to  be  my  duty  to  watch 
jealously  the  marvelous  and  unavoidable 
development  of  this  wonderful  girl. 

In  a  word,  I  compromised  with  my  con- 


142  MARIPOSILLA. 

tending  emotions,  instituting  myself  the 
guardian  of  her  glorious  beauty.  Our 
arrival  at  the  hotel  was  concurrent  with 
the  usual  lively  glimpses  of  festivity  always 
prevalent  at  a  pleasure  resort  upon  the 
approach  of  evening.  A  gush  of  music, 
the  ripple  of  laughter,  the  tripping  of  feet, 
and  the  spontaneous  rush  of  cherubs  in 
white  frocks  to  investigate  our  arrival 
constituted  for  Mariposilla  and  Marjorie 
a  prime  reception. 

Mrs.  Sanderson  awaited  us  upon  the 
landing  of  the  broad  staircase,  then  led  us 
cordially  to  her  own  apartments.  When 
she  threw  open  the  door  to  her  sitting- 
room,  Mariposilla  exclaimed  with  pleas 
ure  as  the  lady  drew  her  affectionately 
to  the  open  fire. 

"  Sit  down,  little  one,"  she  said.  "  I  will 
draw  some  tea,  while  Sid  attends  to  the 
luggage.  My  pretty  butterfly  must  be 
warmed  after  her  drive  ;  for  of  course  she 
is  to  outshine  all  beauties  at  the  ball  to 
night." 

As  Mrs.  Sanderson  spoke,  she  went  to 
the  tea-table,  where  the  kettle  was  already 
singing. 

I  could  see,  as  Mariposilla  received  her 


MARIPOSILLA.  143 

tea  from  the  hand  of  our  hostess,  that  the 
shell-like  cup  and  saucer  were  a  source  of 
apprehension.  The  child  dreaded  a  catas 
trophe  more  than  she  would  have  dreaded, 
a  month  previous,  a  dire  calamity  in  her 
family. 

Covertly  she  watched  me  as  I  deposited 
upon  the  side  of  my  saucer  the  biscuit 
that  must  not  interfere  with  the  manipu 
lation  of  my  spoon. 

But,  although  she  endeavored  to  follow 
my  exact  policy,  her  first  attempt  at  tea 
drinking  was  destined  to  be  unfortunate. 

Mariposilla  had  not  yet  achieved  the 
confidence  necessary  for  the  poise  and 
counterpoise  of  the  treacherous  spoon. 
The  girl  had  not  yet  attained  the  dallying 
point.  She  could  not  yet  sip  tea  one  mo 
ment  with  assurance,  the  next,  disregard 
the  responsibilities  of  Dresden  or  Coalport 
china  while  she  chatted  unconsciously  with 
her  neighbor. 

Notwithstanding  her  most  earnest  ef 
forts  to  succeed  in  the  undertaking,  the 
spoon  flew  at  an  aggravating  tangent 
across  the  room.  In  a  frantic  lurch  to 
capture  it  she  upset  her  cup,  spilling  into 
her  lap  the  steaming  tea. 


344  MARIPOSILLA. 

In  a  moment  Mrs.  Sanderson  was  by  her 
side. 

"  Dear  child,"  she  said,  sympathetically, 
relieving  the  girl  at  once  from  her  costly 
incumbrances.  "  I  alone  am  to  blame  for 
offering  you  that  stupid  cup.  Sid  declares 
each  time  it  is  used  that  it  shall  be  the  last. 

"You  see,"  she  added  charmingly,  "  those 
miserable  little  feet,  that  look  so  secure 
when  the  cup  is  standing  upon  the  saucer, 
have  a  malicious  way  of  running  away. 
They  are  just  like  the  profligate  dish  that 
eloped  with  the  spoon,  when  the  cow 
jumped  over  the  moon." 

In  a  moment,  Mariposilla  had  forgotten 
her  embarrassment. 

The  lady  took  her  at  once  to  her  bed 
room,  where  she  sponged  away  the  stains, 
petting  and  reassuring  the  child  until  she 
glowed  with  happiness. 

Soon  Sidney  came  to  say  that  our  rooms 
were  ready,  urging  us,  as  we  withdrew, 
not  to  be  late  for  dinner. 

When  we  had  unpacked  our  apparel, 
Mariposilla  became  at  once  absorbed  in 
the  delights  of  her  toilet,  speculating 
innocently,  while  she  dressed,  in  regard 
to  the  mysteries  of  the  cotillion,  which 


MARIPOSILLA.  145 

she  was  to  witness  for  the  first  time  after 
dinner. 

The  cream  and  gold  frock  was  joyfully 
assumed,  and  if  possible  the  girl's  pleasure 
was  keener  than  upon  the  previous  even 
ing. 

With  true  womanly  instinct  she  estab 
lished  the  harmonious  intimacy  between 
herself  and  her  finery  which  at  first  had 
been  lacking.  She  now  wore  her  gown 
with  composure.  None  would  have  sus 
pected  that  she  had  not  always  been  well 
dressed. 

She  had  pushed  above  the  elbow  the 
wide,  puffy  sleeves,  displaying  the  lower 
half  of  her  rounded  arms ;  while  the 
smile  that  parted  her  lips  told  plainly  of 
satisfaction,  when  she  regarded  the  effect. 

Now  that  her  mother  was  absent  she 
wore  fearlessly  the  shining  bracelet. 
About  her  throat  she  fastened  with  de 
lighted  vanity  the  little  necklace,  declar 
ing,  with  one  more  loving  glance  into  the 
mirror,  that  she  was  ready. 

Marjorie,  having  finished  her  tea,  had 
obediently  retired,  satisfied  to  watch  for  a 
few  moments  from  her  bed  our  elaborate 
preparations.  She  was  deeply  moved  by 

10 


148  MARIPOSILLA. 

our  grand  toilets,  pronouncing  us  "the 
beautifulest  peoples  in  the  house."  I  was 
the  loveliest  of  mammas,  in  my  long  neg 
lected  "dwaggin  dress"  ;  while  upon  Mar- 
iposilla  she  bestowed  a  profusion  of  com 
pliments,  as  pretty  as  they  were  genuine. 

When  we  had  kissed  the  little  girl  good 
night,  we  started  at  once  to  rejoin  our 
friends.  Half  way  down  the  hall  we  met 
Mrs.  Sanderson  and  her  son  coming  to  us. 

The  lady  wore  a  rich  lavender  evening 
gown,  while  Sidney  for  the  first  time 
appeared  before  Mariposilla  in  the  im 
maculate  perfection  of  full  dress. 

I  saw  in  a  moment  that  the  Spanish 
child  was  in  an  ecstasy  of  adoration. 
Ever  after,  it  would  be  useless  for  the 
Dona  Maria  to  endeavor  to  interest  her  in 
the  magnificence  of  her  father's  once 
splendid  apparel. 

Even  upon  the  threshold  of  this  new 
experience  she  was  captivated  beyond 
release.  Never  again  would  she  submit 
to  her  old  life. 

The  next  moment  was  felicitous,  when 
Mrs.  Sanderson  took  caressingly  her  hand. 
Drawing  it  within  her  own  she  commanded 
her  son  to  escort  us  to  dinner. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

As  we  disposed  ourselves  about  the 
friendly  table  in  the  cheerful  dining 
room,  I  could  see  that  Mariposilla's  wild 
est  desires  were  at  last  realized. 

She;  was  trembling  slightly,  I  fancied, 
as  I  glanced  at  her  from  my  opposite 
position,  but  in  a  moment  she  had  con 
trolled  herself,  and  if  the  ordeal  of  dinner 
had  at  first  appeared  formidable,  she  soon 
forgot  her  fears  in  rapturous  happiness. 

As  upon  the  occasion  of  the  Waltons' 
luncheon,  she  watched  intelligently  my 
every  move,  making  no  mistakes,  as  she 
received  prettily  the  flattering  attentions 
of  those  about  her. 

As  dinner  proceeded,  the  girl's  excite 
ment  was  manifest  only  in  her  transcen 
dent  coloring.  She  was  dropping  natur 
ally,  as  well  as  gracefully,  into  the  most 
difficult  requirements  of  her  social  novi 
tiate.  As  I  watched  her  anxiously,  I  grew 
tranquil  with  the  assurance  that  the  first 
step  in  her  education  had  been  success- 

(147) 


148  MARIPOSILLA. 

fully  taken,  exulting,  as  I  reflected  upon 
the  complications  of  modern  dining. 

One  of  my  pet  theories  had  led  me  to 
believe  that  I  could  discern  correctly  the 
character  or  native  refinement  of  anyone, 
provided  I  could  observe,  unsuspected,  his 
gastronomical  endeavors.  I  had  often 
discovered  inherent  resemblances  to  the 
brute,  or  lingering  traces  of  the  savage, 
as  I  watched  covertly  the  table  attain 
ments  of  a  person  who,  under  other  ordi 
nary  conditions,  appeared  eminently  cor 
rect.  I  felt  willing  to  stake  extensive 
odds  that  Mariposilla's  social  success 
would  progress  satisfactorily  in  intelli 
gent  ratio  to  her  first  unique  acquirement. 

Our  coffee  was  served  in  Mrs.  Sander 
son's  sitting-room,  where  we  were  joined 
by  a  bevy  of  young  people,  to  whom  we 
were  introduced  in  anticipation  of  the 
week's  festivities. 

Sidney  and  a  young  Englishman  pre 
pared  to  smoke,  while  the  girls  gathered 
about  Mrs.  Sanderson,  like  moths  around 
a  candle. 

"  Have  you  heard  of  the  coincidence? " 
demanded  Mrs.  Wilbur,  a  dashing  blonde, 
who  thus  far  in  the  season  had  monopo- 


MARIPOSILLA.  149 

lized  the  attentions  of  the  social  leader's 
son.  "  Imagine,  if  you  please,  a  shortage 
of  young  women  for  our  cotillion." 

"  Just  think  of  an  extra  man  in  San  Ga 
briel!  "  shouted  the  girls  in  chorus;  while 
Mrs.  Wilbur  appealed  confidentially  to 
Mrs.  Sanderson  to  settle  the  impending 
difficulty. 

"  We  were  expecting  six  couples  from 
Pasadena,  and  now,  at  the  last  moment, 
Ethel  Walton  sends  word  that  the  giddy 
widow  who  was  to  have  chaperoned  her 
party  is  ill,  obliging  them  to  bring  a 
maiden  lady  who  doesn't  dance,"  she  ex 
claimed. 

"Delightful!"  exclaimed  the  girls. 
"  How  jolly  to  boast  a  rover,  and  dear 
Mr.  Eastman  at  that." 

"Won't  he  be  popular?"  Mrs.  Wilbur 
added,  aside  to  Mrs.  Sanderson,  who  was 
at  that  moment  glancing  interrogatively 
at  Sidney. 

The  young  man  divined  his  mother's 
signal,  for  he  came  to  her  side  with  unu 
sual  alacrity. 

"The  very  thing,"  the  lady  replied  to 
his  earnest  undertone.  "The  arrange 
ment  will  be  quite  proper,  and  I  am  sure 


160  MARIPOSILLA. 

that  Mrs.  Wilbur  will  relinquish  you  for 
Mr.  Eastman.  Won't  you,  my  dear? "  the 
lady  continued,  turning  suddenly  to  Mrs. 
Wilbur,  who  was  now  beginning  to  sus 
pect  that  Sidney  was  quite  satisfied  to 
obey  the  suggestion  of  his  mother. 

"  It  will  be  so  interesting  to  watch  Mari- 
posilla  dance  in  the  cotillion,"  Mrs.  San 
derson  pursued,  bravely.  "  Dear  Mrs. 
Wilbur  will  excuse  you,  for  my  sake,  I 
am  sure,  Sid,"  she  added,  sweetly,  as  she 
turned  from  that  somewhat  ruffled  young 
woman  to  the  Spanish  child,  who  was  pret 
tily  pleading  her  ignorance  of  cotillions. 

"  Never  mind,  dear,"  she  said,  coaxingly, 
to  the  timid  girl,  "  you  dance  divinely,  and 
Sid  will  take  you  through  the  figures 
beautifully." 

I  saw  that  Mrs.  Wilbur  was  chagrined 
and  angry,  for  a  hot  flush  had  dyed  her 
cheeks,  when  she  replied  that  of  course 
Mr.  Sanderson  could  do  as  he  chose.  As 
far  as  she  was  concerned  she  would  be 
greatly  pleased  to  dance  with  Mr.  East 
man,  having  formerly  refused  him  her 
partnership  on  account  of  an  early  en 
gagement  with  Mr.  Sanderson. 

"  My  mother  appears  to  have  solved  our 


MARIPOSILLA.  151 

difficulties.  Mr.  Eastman  certainly  sur 
passes  me  as  a  partner,  and  as  there  is  no 
robbery  in  a  beneficial  exchange,  with 
Mrs.  Wilbur's  permission,  I  will  dance 
with  Miss  Del  Valle,"  the  young  man 
responded,  indifferently. 

A  suppressed  titter  from  one  of  the 
girls  had  the  unfortunate  tendency  to 
increase  Mrs.  Wilbur's  pique. 

She  answered  curtly  that  certainly  Mrs. 
Sanderson  had  the  first  claim  upon  her 
son.  "  Mr.  Eastman  is  a  delightful  part 
ner,  and  I  am  exceptionally  favored  in  the 
cut,"  she  added,  with  spirit. 

"Why,  Mrs.  Wilbur,"  exclaimed  a  girl 
with  baby-blue  eyes  and  a  sympathetic 
costume,  embellished  by  infant  devices; 
"how  dare  you  perpetrate  a  pun?  You 
are  surely  not  ignorant  of  the  punishment 
which  fits  such  a  crime? " 

"While  you,  my  dear,  have  yet  to 
learn  of  penalties  arranged  for  young 
women  who  can  not  distinguish  between 
a  pun  and  a  simile,"  Mrs.  Wilbur  replied. 

Mrs.  Sanderson,  perceiving  that  the  a-ir 
was  becoming  tinctured  with  personali 
ties,  declared  that  there  were  also  penal 
ties  for  being  disagreeable. 


152  MARIPOSILLA. 

"  Come,"  she  said,  "  let  us  resist  the  de 
sire  to  quarrel.  I  am  sure  that  Mrs.  Wil- 
ber  and  Sidney  are  both  satisfied,  they 
have  simply  been  misunderstood;  and 
under  the  circumstances  it  becomes  a 
polite  duty  to  change  the  subject." 

As  the  lady  finished  her  tactful  and 
decisive  rejoinder,  she  took  from  the 
table  a  package  which  had  just  arrived  by 
express  from  New  York. 

"  A  box  of  chocolate  creams  for  the  one 
who  guesses  my  Christmas  gift,"  she  said, 
graciously,  holding  above  the  throng  a 
long,  narrow  package,  that  was  certainly 
not  suggestive  of  any  particular  thing. 

"  Each  person  shall  have  three  guesses, 
which  Mrs.  Wilbur  will  kindly  record." 

"  Go,  Sid,  and  fetch  some  paper,"  his 
mother  commanded;  turning  sweetly  to 
Mrs.  Wilbur,  who  was  evidently  weighing 
the  consequences  of  refusing  to  act  as 
secretary. 

However,  when  Mr.  Sanderson  brought 
the  writing  pad  and  pencil  she  accepted 
them  with  mollified  mien. 

"  Mr.  Brooke  shall  guess  first,"  Mrs.  San 
derson  said,  addressing  the  diminutive  Eng 
lishman,  who  was  smoking  before  the  fire. 


MARIPOSILLA.  153 

"  What  do  you  say  my  package  contains, 
Mr.  Brooke?"  the  lady  urged;  when  the 
young  man  persisted  in  a  grinning  silence. 

"  Weally,  my  deah  lady,  I  am  deucid 
poor  at  a  fancy;  "  he  at  length  divulged. 

"  Never  mind,"  cried  the  aggressive 
baby  girl;  "  say  anything!  Time'  is  pre 
cious." 

"  As  you  insist,"  the  man  replied,  "  I 
fancy  the  package  contains  Mr.  Sander 
son's  sweetheart." 

"  That  is  but  one  guess,"  objected  Mrs. 
Wilbur,  "  there  are  two  more  possibilities 
in  store  for  you." 

"  Three  sweethearts,  as  you  bother  so," 
the  Englishman  replied,  greatly  elated  at 
his  wit. 

"Very  well,"  said  Mrs.  Sanderson. 
"  Three  sweethearts  are  surely  not  an 
impossibility  to  a  young  man;  are  they, 
Sid  ? " 

"  Certainly  not,"  her  son  replied,  as  he 
lit,  with  adorable  indifference,  a  fresh  cigar. 

"  Now,  my  little  Butterfly  shall  guess/' 
Mrs.  Sanderson  declared,  turning  to  Mari- 
posilla,  who  was  the  unconscious  center  of 
the  admiring  throng.  All  listened  eagerly 
to  hear  what  the  beautiful  child  would 


154  MARIPOSILLA. 

say;  suffused  as  she  was  with  charming 
embarrassment. 

"  I  am  sure  it  is  a  gift  of  devotion  and 
great  affection,"  she  answered  modestly, 
gazing  with  touching  earnestness  into  the 
face  of  her  adored  friend. 

"  How  extremely  pretty! "  approved 
Mrs.  Sanderson. 

"Thus  far  the  contents  of  the  package 
is  enchantingly  abstract;  can  not  some 
one,  who  is  matter-of-fact,  indulge  in  a 
guess  which  is  tangible? " 

In  accordance  with  the  request,  there 
followed  in  quick  succession  a  volley  of 
reckless  ventures,  each  outdoing  the  other 
in  substantial  reality. 

When  the  guessing  ceased,  Mrs.  Wilbur 
remarked  the  weight  of  the  package,  and 
announced  that  she  believed  the  box  con 
tained  shot.  "  Nothing  but  lead  could 
weigh  so  heavily,  but  of  course,  as  secre 
tary,  I  am  not  guessing,"  she  remarked, 
indifferently. 

"  Surely,  you  must  guess!  "  Mrs.  Sander 
son  urged,  sweetly;  but  as  Mrs.  Wilbur 
insisted  that  she  preferred  to  keep  out  of 
the  game,  the  lady  said  no  more,  but  pro 
ceeded  to  undo  the  mysterious  parcel. 


MARIPOSILLA.  155 

A  shout  of  admiration  burst  from  the 
expectant  company  when  she  exposed  for 
view  an  elegant  silver  picture  shrine,  con 
taining  three  superb  postures  of  a  beauti 
ful  girl. 

"  By  Jove,  I  am  right!  "  lisped  the  Rivu 
let,  gleefully.  "  Did  I  not  say  three  sweet 
hearts?  " 

"  Certainly  Mr.  Brooke  has  won,"  several 
cried  at  once. 

"  Don't  be  so  sure,"  retorted  Mrs.  Wil 
bur,  in  an  undertone.  "  Did  I  not  say  the 
box  contained  shot?  If  you  doubt  the 
fact,  look  at  the  Spanish  girl,"  she  added, 
censoriously,  to  Sidney,  who  appeared  not 
to  hear. 

It  was  true  that  Mariposilla  had  grown 
strangely  pale.  She  seemed  like  one  smit 
ten  by  a  remorseless  blast.  Instinctively 
she  vanished  from  Mrs.  Sanderson's  side, 
while  her  pitiful  eyes  implored  me  to  take 
her  away. 

Fortunately,  at  this  particular  time  the 
tallyho  arrived  from  Pasadena,  and  to  my 
infinite  joy  the  situation  was  relieved. 
Mariposilla,  forgotten  in  the  excitement, 
soon  regained  her  composure,  and  later, 
when  we  entered  the  ballroom,  her 


156  MARIPOSILLA. 

color  was  restored  and  her  distress  oblit 
erated. 

I  was  glad  that  Mrs.  Wilbur  and  I  had 
alone  witnessed  the  child's  jealousy.  The 
rest  of  the  company  had  been  too  busy 
admiring  the  pictures  to  notice  Maripo- 
silla's  pale  countenance  ;  while  Mrs.  Wil 
bur's  sarcasms  had  been  uttered  low, 
apart  from  the  throng,  as  she  sat  by  the 
table  on  which  she  had  been  writing. 

I  felt  that  the  poor  child's  secret  was 
safe  for  this  evening,  at  least;  for  I  believed 
Mrs.  Wilbur  too  wily  to  acknowledge  her 
rival  at  present.  The  woman  of  the  world 
still  hoped  to  distance  the  Spanish  child. 

I  could  see  that  she  was  determined  to 
drive  her  to  a  disadvantage  if  possible. 

The  cotillion  was  not  to  be  enjoyed 
until  a  programme  of  dances  had  bee,n 
offered  to  all  the  guests  of  the  hotel,  some 
of  whom  had  not  been  favored  with  invi 
tations  for  the  cotillion. 

This  arrangement  proved  fortunate  for 
Mariposilla.  She  forgot  her  first  slight 
embarrassment  entirely,  as  she  glided 
happily  among  the  less  exclusive  throng, 
who  good-naturedly  jostled  her  as  she 
passed  in  the  dance. 


MARIPOSILLA.  157 

Sidney  had  assumed  entire  charge  of 
her.  He  had  arranged  her  programme 
with  great  consideration,  interspersing  his 
own  name  freely  between  the  names  of 
the  most  desirable  men  in  the  room ; 
while  he  reserved  for  himself  the  privilege 
of  escorting  her  to  the  refreshment  room, 
preparatory  to  the  cotillion. 

The  evening  from  its  beginning  ap 
peared  auspicious  for  Mariposilla.  Be 
tween  dances  the  child  flitted  to  my  side 
like  a  happy  bird. 

"  It  is  most  grand,  Senora  !  "  she  whis 
pered,  as  Sidney  drew  her  away  for  a 
waltz. 

During  refreshments,  I  noticed  that  Mrs. 
Wilbur  was  both  fascinated  and  annoyed 
at  the  sensation  the  girl  was  producing. 
Where  would  the  matter  end  ?  I  asked 
myself. 

Even  in  the  midst  of  Mariposilla's  ap 
parent  success,  I  felt  my  heart  sinking 
with  apprehension.  "  Why,"  I  questioned, 
"  Why  did  I  let  her  come  ? " 

The  dancers  were  rapidly  leaving  the 
supper  room,  and  when  I  looked  for  Mari 
posilla,  she,  too,  had  disappeared.  Think 
ing  that  she  aad  gone  below  into  the  ball- 


158  MARIPOSILLA. 

room,  I  followed  hastily  ;  but  she  was  not 
there.  Excusing  myself  to  Mrs.  Sander 
son,  upon  the  plea  that  I  must  peep  at 
Marjorie,  I  ran  hastily  above,  hoping  to 
find  my  charge  in  one  of  the  reception 
rooms.  Faithfully  I  searched  the  parlors 
and  corridors,  and  later  the  verandas,  in 
vain,  for  a  trace  of  the  truants,  so  success 
fully  escaping  me. 

There  was  yet  Mrs.  Sanderson's  sitting- 
room.  I  must  pass  it  on  the  way  to  Mar 
jorie. 

I  hastily  ascended  the  stairs,  contem 
plating,  as  I  flew  along  the  hall,  my 
chances  of  interrupting  a  tete-a-tete. 

I  felt  indignant  that  Sidney  Sanderson 
should  abuse  so  soon  my  confidence. 

I  realized  that  Mariposilla  already  had 
been  missed  by  her  rival,  and  the  thought 
that  the  inexperienced  child  would  doubt 
less  be  criticised,  and  perhaps  maligned, 
was  decidedly  irritating. 

Slackening  my  pace  as  I  approached 
the  vicinity  of  Mrs.  Sanderson's  parlor,  I 
perceived  the  door  ajar.  A  second  more^ 
and  I  comprehended  the  absurdity  of  my 
vigilant  endeavors.  My  conscientious 
plans  and  sentimental  reservations,  thus 


MARIPOSILLA.  159 

far,  were  not  proving  superior  to  the  wiles 
of  Cupid. 

I  winced  cruelly  when  I  remembered 
the  confident  schemes  for  Mariposilla's 
gradual  translation  into  the  bosom  of  the 
conventional  world. 

In  the  center  of  the  room,  her  profile 
outlined  by  acute  emotion,  stood  the 
Spanish  girl.  Bending  beside  her,  Sidney 
was  evincing  an  ardency  entirely  paradox 
ical,  when  I  considered  his  indifferent 
temperament. 

Mariposilla  held  in  her  hands,  which 
trembled,  the  silver  shrine,  containing  the 
pictures  of  the  beautiful  girl. 

"  You  love  her  not  ?  "  she  repeated  in  an 
ecstasy  of  doubt  ;  her  voice  gradually 
rising  in  joy  at  the  sweet  denial  she  had 
forced  from  the  lips  of  her  lover. 

Her  head  was  still  in  profile,  but  the 
long  lashes,  that  had  lifted  to  disclose  her 
rapture,  now  dropped  like  a  sable  fringe 
upon  her  precious  secret,  while  she  lis 
tened  in  silent  contentment  to  the  deep 
undertone  assurances  of  the  man  by  her 
side. 

I  could  endure  the  restraint  no  longer. 
Tapping  deceitfully  upon  the  door,  I  be- 


160  MARIPOSILLA. 

gan  at  once  an  animated  search  for  my 
fan,  inwardly  disgusted  with  my  coward 
ice,  furious  over  my  imbecile  failure  as  a 
chaperone. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Mariposilla  was  the  belle  of  the  cotil 
lion.  Seated  between  Sidney  and  Ethel 
Walton,  she  knew  no  embarrassment. 
When  dancing,  she  was  absolutely  free 
from  self-consciousness. 

I  assisted  Mrs.  Sanderson  at  the  favor 
tables,  where  I  had  every  opportunity  of 
observing  the  girl's  behavior. 

She  was  constantly  called  out,  and  to 
my  delight  accepted  her  popularity  with 
gracious  modesty. 

Often,  when  she  came  for  a  favor,  Mrs. 
Sanderson  delayed  her  to  whisper  a  com 
pliment,  or  else  to  lavish  upon  her  a 
marked  caress. 

From  first  to  last,  the  happy  child  was 
noticeably  bedecked  with  trophies  of  suc 
cess.  In  her  hair  a  number  of  gauzy  but 
terflies  of  different  hues  fluttered  as  she 
danced,  encouraging  the  fancy  that  she 
was  truly  related  to  the  gorgeous  little 
creatures  after  which  she  had  been  named. 

By  the  side  of  the  Spanish  child  the 

11  ( 161 ) 


162  MARIPOSILLA. 

other  girls  appeared  artificial.  Their  re 
spective  claims  to  beauty  seemed  easily 
determined,  the  limit  of  their  fascinations 
soon  estimated. 

"I  never  felt  so  blase"  in  my  life  be 
fore,"  Ethel  Walton  whispered,  as  I 
handed  her  a  favor.  Later,  when  there 
was  an  intermission  in  the  cotillion,  she 
crossed  the  room  and  sat  by  my  side. 

"As  I  told  you  once,  I  feel  dreadfully 
blase"  to-night,"  she  said,  picking  to  pieces 
a  rose  which  had  fallen  away  from  her 
stylish  gown.  "  To  watch  your  wonderful 
prote"ge"e  rejoicing  over  the  sweet,  uncer 
tain  trophies  of  her  first  cotillion,  is  entirely 
refreshing.  Her  extravagant  happiness 
makes  me  feel  as  though  I  had  finished 
my  course  and  been  decidedly  beaten." 

"Did  you  ever  see  anyone  so  efful 
gent  ? "  Ethel  continued,  following  with 
her  eyes  the  outlines  of  Mariposilla's 
figure.  "  No  one  in  the  room  can  ap 
proach  her  in  beauty,"  she  mused  amia 
bly.  "And  yet  the  girl  inspires  no 
jealousy ;  for,  like  Donatello,  her  moral 
nature  seems  absolutely  undeveloped. 
Sometimes  she  seems  like  an  exquisite  link 
between  nature  and  the  fallen  angels." 


MARIPOSILLA.  163 

"  Have  you,  too,  noticed  this  ? "  I  ex 
claimed. 

"Yes,"  Ethel  replied,  "I  have  been 
thinking  about  her  ever  since  that  first 
visit  to  Crown  Hill.  If  I  am  ever  famous 
in  the  Salon,  Mariposilla  shall  be  the 
theme  for  my  picture." 

"  If  you  work  I  am  sure  you  will  suc 
ceed,"  I  replied. 

"I  hope  I  shall  continue  to  work,  '  she 
answered,  "  but  even  work  is  an  uncertain 
proviso.  Sometimes  I  wonder  why  God 
inconveniences  the  ordinary  mortal  with 
an  imagination.  Why  does  he  not  reserve 
the  allurements  of  art  for  the  genius  of 
the  century  alone  ?  " 

"  I  so  often  envy  my  sister,"  the  girl 
continued.  "  It  is  beautiful  to  watch  her 
at  a  high  church  service.  This  one  ex 
alted  caprice  seems  to  satisfy  entirely  her 
cravings  after  the  extraordinary.  She 
believes  the  tenets  of  her  faith  so  implic 
itly  that  she  is  never  beguiled  into  uncom 
fortable  doubts.  She  never  reaches  after 
unattainable  things,  and  is  absolutely  sat 
isfied  with  the  common  conventions  of 
life." 

"  Then  surely  she  is  happy  ? "  I  replied. 


164  MARIPOSILLA. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Ethel, "  but  look  at  Sid 
ney  Sanderson.  Certainly  he  is  in  love 
with  Mariposilla  !  Watch  him  a  moment 
and  see  how  he  has  forgotten  his  blase 
part  to-night.  All  things  considered,  I 
believe  the  match  would  be  a  good  one," 
she  continued.  "  Sid  is  carnal  enough  to 
appreciate  Mariposilla's  physical  perfec 
tion,  and  I  believe  he  could  easily  dispense 
with  moral  and  intellectual  qualities." 

Later,  when  Ethel  bade  me  good-night, 
she  whispered  that  I  might  depend  upon 
her  as  my  ally.  "  If  Mr.  Sidney  becomes 
too  masterful  let  me  know,"  she  said, 
gaily,  as  she  enveloped  herself  in  the 
folds  of  her  evening  cloak. 

Long  after  the  hotel  had  been  hushed 
with  the  final  hush  which  follows  a  ball, 
I  lay  awake  thinking  of  Mariposilla  and 
the  possible  intentions  of  Sidney  Sander 
son.  Time  after  time  her  beautiful,  pas 
sionate  face  appeared  before  me,  tortured, 
one  moment,  with  wild,  half-civilized 
jealousy;  the  next,  transcendent  with 
blissful  trust  in  the  man  she  loved. 

When  I  awoke  from  my  unrefreshing 
slumbers  at  the  usual  time,  aroused  by 
Marjorie,  who  had  crawled  into  my  bed, 


MARIPOSILLA.  165 

I  felt  that  I  must  invent  a  pretext  for 
returning  Mariposilla  as  soon  as  possible 
to  the  care  of  her  mother. 

The  morning  was  dull.  A  prophetic 
contrast  to  the  glorious  Christmas  dawn 
of  the  day  before.  The  rains  had  been 
threatening  at  intervals  for  several  weeks, 
but  the  sun  had  dissipated  the  clouds 
each  day,  leaving  always  the  impression 
of  a  pleasant  trick  arranged  for  the 
bewildered  tourist,  who,  contrary  to  the 
example  of  natives  and  adopted  Califor- 
nians,  lugged  about  persistently  his  mack 
intosh  and  umbrella,  declaring  each 
cloudy  morning  that  rain  must  certainly 
fall  before  night.  Then,  suddenly,  the 
gray  clouds  seemed  to  melt  into  the 
liquid  blue  of  the  sky,  while  against  the 
sides  of  the  purple  mountains  only  one 
long  streak  of  vapor  rested,  like  the 
shroud  of  a  giant. 

The  week  before  Christmas  the  sky 
had  smoothed  away  its  every  trace  of 
rain.  Light  snows  had  sugared  the 
feathery  outlines  of  the  distant  peaks, 
and  the  delighted  tourist  had  hung  up 
his  mackintosh  and  umbrella,  deciding 
that  the  climates  of  Southern  France 


166  MARIPOSILLA. 

and  Italy  were  not  to  be  considered 
with  that  of  Southern  California.  Now 
the  clouds  had  returned  reenf  orced.  The 
range  had  grown  richer  in  color,  almost 
black,  except  when  the  sun  shot  for 
a  moment  his  presence  in  temporary 
triumph  against  a  spur,  that  glistened 
responsively,  while  the  canons  scowled 
in  dark  disapproval.  Then,  all  at  once, 
a  gloom,  like  a  half-dropped  curtain, 
settled  back  of  the  foothills,  defying  the 
prophecies  of  the  most  ancient  mariner 
of  the  Coast. 

As  I  awoke  I  felt  with  unusual  depres 
sion  the  absence  of  the  sun.  And  when 
I  drew  aside  my  curtains  I  peered  in 
vain  for  streaks  of  gold  threading  the 
horizon.  The  morning  was  lifeless  and 
gray.  Even  the  great  clusters  of  cactus, 
the  remains  of  the  natural  wall  planted 
by  the  good  padres  years  ago  for  pro 
tection  against  the  Indians,  seemed  an 
invasion  of  gray  spirits.  Not  so  when  the 
sun  glanced  their  bristling  tops,  for  then 
they  shone  like  knights  in  full  armor. 

My  heart  went  out  in  childish  home 
sickness  to  the  Dona  Maria  and  the 
little  nest  I  had  prepared  for  myself  in 


MARIPOSILLA.  167 

her  simple  Spanish  home.  While  I 
dressed  myself  and  Marjorie,  I  turned 
over  and  over  the  subject  which  had 
taken  possession  of  my  thoughts.  How 
could  I  escape  the  complications  of  this 
inopportune  visit  ?  How  could  I,  with 
out  offending  the  Sandersons  and  notice 
ably  meddling  with  the  discretion  of  the 
Dona  Maria,  return  quietly  with  Mari- 
posilla  to  the  ranch  ? 

But  the  problem  grew  more  difficult 
as  the  day  advanced,  for  Mariposilla  was 
now  in  a  seventh  heaven,  which  sur 
passed  entirely  her  expectations.  All  at 
once  she  was  the  pet  and  sensation  of  the 
hotel.  Mrs.  Wilbur  had  conquered  her 
pique  of  the  previous  evening,  and,  for 
reasons  clear  to  herself,  she  nattered  and 
patronized  the  child  with  unlooked-for 
benevolence.  The  gay  young  woman 
seemed  to  have  recovered  her  lost  temper, 
for  she  urged  Sidney  and  Mariposilla  to 
waltz  after  breakfast,  volunteering,  with 
sweet  unselfishness,  to  furnish  the  music 
for  the  aimless  crowd  who  had  congre 
gated  in  the  ball-room.  Later,  the  tennis 
experts  insisted  on  a  few  last  sets  before 
the  rain,  and  all  sauntered  in  the  direction 


168  MARIPOSILLA. 

of  the  courts,  pairing  off  as  they  went, 
drawn  by  the  flirtatious  affinities  of  the 
moment. 

However,  tennis  soon  languished,  and 
the  crowd  returned  to  the  Sandersons' 
sitting-room  to  beguile  the  rest  of  the 
morning  with  guitars  and  banjos.  Mrs. 
Wilbur  professed  unbounded  admiration 
for  Mariposilla's  performances,  and  en 
gaged  to  practice  with  her  that  same 
afternoon,  when  the  present  audience 
had  dispersed  for  beauty  naps. 

"  We  could  soon  play  together  wonder 
fully  well,"  she  declared.  The  woman 
had  evidently  decided  that  her  best  game 
was  to  patronize  Mrs.  Sanderson's  guest, 
if  she  intended  to  regain  the  attentions  of 
Sidney  when  the  girl  departed.  Yet  she 
loved  to  embitter  the  latent  apprehensions 
of  the  poor  child  by  constant  reference 
to  the  face  in  the  silver  shrine.  I  could 
see  that  although  Mariposilla  carried  her 
self  with  unusual  composure,  there  was 
beneath  her  stifling  calm  a  lurking  tem 
pest  of  doubt  and  jealousy.  She  seemed 
horribly  fascinated  by  the  unpleasant  pos 
sibilities  of  the  beautiful  face  that  occupied 
so  many  conspicuous  situations  in  the 


MARIPOSILLA.  169 

room.  She  gazed  again  and  again  at  the 
lovely,  aristocratic  features  which  haunted 
her  to  despair.  Once  she  locked  them 
passionately  in  their  silver  case.  Quickly 
turning  to  a  pile  of  music,  she  tried  to 
hide  her  secret ;  but  Mrs.  Sanderson  had 
observed  her. 

"Looking  at  my  beautiful  Gladys 
again  ? "  she  said,  drawing  the  blushing 
child  to  her  side.  "  I  hope  you  will  know 
her  some  day,  for  Gladys  would  love  you 
dearly.  She  adores  everything  beautiful." 

The  color  deepened  beneath  the  Span 
ish  girl's  cheek  as  Sidney's  mother  con 
tinued  to  explain  the  tender  relations 
existing  •  between  herself  and  the  New 
York  heiress. 

"  Gladys  is  the  daughter  of  a  school 
friend,  who  died  when  her  little  one  was 
but  six  years  old.  She  is  my  godchild, 
and  I  have  watched  the  motherless  child 
grow  up,  thinking  always  of  her  loss.  The 
dear  girl  has  many  lovers,  but  refuses 
them  all.  She  lives  only  for  her  father, 
who  is  an  invalid.  She  will  never  marry, 
I  am  afraid,  during  his  life.  I  had  hoped 
to  bring  them  both  to  California,  but, 
instead,  they  have  gone  to  a  sanatorium, 


170  MARIPOSILLA. 

about  which  Gladys  has  grown  quite  wild. 
The  poor  girl  believes  that  her  father  is 
going  to  recover,  and  has  shut  herself  away 
from  society  and  friends,  only  to  be  disap 
pointed,"  the  lady  added,  with  calculating 
sympathy. 

"  Perhaps  her  father  will  live  many 
years,"  Mariposilla  said,  eagerly.  To  the 
suspicious  child  no  Providential  arrange 
ment  could  be  more  satisfactory.  That 
the  father  of  Gladys  might  be  spared  to  a 
green  old  age  would  now  become  a  part 
of  her  prayers.  She  would  say,  that  very 
evening,  a  double  number  of  aves  to  our 
dear  Lady.  She  would  supplicate  her  to 
keep  the  beautiful  Gladys  with  her  father 
in  the  hospital  for  many  years.  Then, 
perhaps  —  she  told  her  poor,  foolish,  jeal 
ous  little  heart  —  then,  perhaps,  Sidney 
tvould  love  only  herself. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

FOR  a  brief  period  in  the  afternoon  the 
clouds  of  the  morning  promised  to  dis 
perse.  The  wind  shifted  from  the  rain 
quarter,  and  the  sun  made  a  sickly  attempt 
to  shine. 

Patches  of  yellow  light  tantalized  the 
sulky  sides  of  the  mountains.  A  pre 
sumptuous  rainbow  started  to  span  the 
sky,  but  parted  in  the  middle  and  soon 
disappeared  in  the  settled  gloom  which 
quickly  followed. 

When  the  sun  first  tried  to  break 
through  the  clouds,  shortly  after  lunch 
eon,  Mrs.  Sanderson  proposed  a  walk. 

"  Come,"  she  said,  "  I  must  have  the  air. 
One  can  not  house  up  in  California.  Even 
one  day  indoors  stifles.  Mariposilla  has 
arranged  to  practice  duets  with  Mrs. 
Wilbur.  Sid  is  obliged  to  go  to  Los 
Angeles ;  Marjorie  is  asleep.  Our  best 
plan  is  to  walk  down  to  the  Mission  and 
back." 

We  had  gone  but  half  way  to  the  old 

(171) 


172  MARIPOSILLA. 

church  when  we  perceived  that  a  rain 
storm  was  now  indeed  coming.  Each 
moment  the  air  grew  colder.  The  wind 
suddenly  ceased  to  compromise  with  the 
south,  changing  almost  immediately  into 
the  east.  The  mountains  disappeared, 
and  soon  the  foothills  were  hidden  beneath 
a  smooth  veil  of  mist.  Several  immense 
drops  announced  the  gathering  downpour. 

"Come,"  said  Mrs.  Sanderson,  "let  us 
make  haste,  before  we  are  drenched." 

We  were  both  famous  pedestrians,  yet 
before  we  had  reached  the  hotel  the  rain 
was  pelting  our  faces  with  stinging  per 
sistency.  We  barely  reached  the  veranda 
when  the  deluge  came. 

Those  who  have  seen  a  California  rain 
storm,  watching  for  days,  perhaps  weeks, 
the  baffled  efforts  of  the  clouds  to  wipe 
out  the  landscape,  will  understand  the 
term.  No  word  but  "deluge"  describes 
adequately  the  steady,  unremitting  torrent 
which  breaks  at  last  from  the  sky. 

As  we  entered  the  house  I  felt  like  cry 
ing.  I  was  chilly  and  tired,  and  had  the 
feeling  that  I  had  been  beaten  even  by 
Nature.  There  was  now  no  excuse  for 
returning  to  the  ranch  until  after  the  rain. 


MARIPOSILLA.  173 

I  had  foolishly  pleaded  the  danger  of  expos 
ing  Marjorie  to  the  drive,  in  case  of  a 
storm,  and  now  the  rain  had  come  —  come 
to  stay  for  several  days;  perhaps  for  a 
week.  I  could  not  consistently  depart 
until  the  downpour  had  ceased. 

When  I  said  early  in  the  day  to  Mrs. 
Sanderson  that  the  weather  had  become 
so  threatening  that  I  would  very  much 
prefer  taking  the  children  home,  she 
silenced  me  by  reminding  me  that  Mari- 
posilla  was  visiting  with  the  full  consent 
of  the  Dona  Maria. 

"The  child  would  be  heart-broken  to 
lose  one  day  of  her  promised  week.  As 
for  yourself,  you  need  a  change  to  wake 
you  up.  It  is  absurd  for  one  so  young  to 
refuse  the  natural  enjoyments  of  youth, 
and  I  think  your  determination  not  to 
dance  a  pretty  but  silly  affectation.  Cali 
fornia  is  not  the  place  to  mourn  in.  The 
climate  is  opposed  to  dejection.  The  na 
tives  go  to  funerals  in  the  morning  and 
chase  with  the  hounds  in  the  afternoon." 

"  Don't,"  I  cried  peremptorily.  "  Don't 
make  me  believe  that  you  mean  what  you 
say." 

"All  the  same,  I  do,"  she  replied.     "I 


174  MARIPOSILLA. 

am  a  fatalist,  and  while  I  am  permitted  to 
enjoy  myself,  I  shall  avoid  sackcloth  and 
ashes." 

Perceiving  that  I  was  hurt,  she  en 
deavored  to  appease  me. 

"  Never  mind,  little  dignity,"  she  said, 
smiling  her  rarest  smile.  "You  are 
always  preaching  me  silent  sermons; 
though  you  don't  mean  to  score  me,  I  feel 
your  principle  in  the  air,  until  I  am  wild 
to  shock  you  in  return." 

Later,  we  went  for  our  walk,  each  a  little 
uncomfortable,  as  each  began  to  wonder 
why  she  had  chosen  the  other  for  her 
friend. 

Upon  our  return  Mrs.  Sanderson  had 
remained  in  the  corridor  in  front  of  the 
open  fire  attempting  to  dry  her  dress.  I 
went  above  at  once.  As  I  passed  the 
familiar  sitting-room  I  saw  through  the 
open  door  that  the  room  was  deserted. 
Mrs.  Wilbur  and  Mariposillahad  evidently 
not  made  a  success  of  the  practicing. 
Without  stopping  I  went  to  my  own  rooms, 
where  I  found  Marjorie  still  asleep. 

Pushing  open  a  communicating  door,  I 
saw  Mariposilla  upon  her  bed.  Her  head 
was  buried  in  the  pillow,  while  long,  chok- 


MARIPOSILLA.  175 

ing  sobs  caught  and  held  her  breath.  She 
had  been  so  happy  but  a  short  time  before, 
flattered  and  pleased  because  Mrs.  Wilbur 
had  invited  her  to  practice  duets,  that  I 
was  surprised  at  her  condition. 

"  Tell  me,  dear  child,"  I  said,  gently, 
"  what  has  happened." 

For  several  moments  she  refused  to 
speak,  but  after  a  time  she  grew  more 
composed.  It  was  clear  to  me  at  once 
that  Mrs.  Wilbur  was  responsible  for  the 
girl's  passionate  grief. 

"Never  mind  my  unhappiness,  dear 
Seiiora,"  she  said  at  last,  touchingly.  "  I 
am  a  poor,  foolish  girl,  and  must  weep 
when  I  am  sad;  just  as  I  rejoice  when  I 
am  happy.  It  is  not  so  with  the  Ameri 
cans —  they  smile  always,  even  though 
they  are  miserable." 

I  found  it  impossible  to  insist  upon  a 
confidence. 

"Yes,  dear,"  I  agreed,  "as  people  grow 
wise  and  worldly,  they  generally  grow 
deceitful.  I  dare  not  advise  you  to  culti 
vate  insincerity;  but  for  convenience  you 
must  endeavor  to  control  your  emotions. 
You  will,  after  a  time,  learn  that  it  is  often 
best  to  smile,  even  though  you  feel  sore. 


176  MARIPOSILLA. 

Often  a  heartache  or  a  heart  hunger  will  go 
away  when  we  have  bravely  concealed  it." 

"Indeed,  I  have  done  so!"  she  cried, 
fiercely.  Rising  from  the  bed  she  con 
fronted  me  excitedly.  Upon  her  sweet  face, 
still  wet  with  tears,  there  was  an  exultant 
expression,  mingled  with  tragic  distress. 

"She  knew  not  that  I  was  unhappy! 
She  thought  only  to  make  me  wretched, 
but  I  wept  not  until  I  was  alone,"  she 
sobbed,  triumphantly. 

Poor  little  one!  how  my  heart  ached  for 
her!  How  readily  was  she  acquiring  the 
miserable  experience  from  which  I  would 
have  saved  her.  Never  again  could  she 
be  the  Mariposilla  she  had  been  before 
this  unfortunate  visit. 

The  flame  was  now  lighted  which  threat 
ened  to  consume  her. 

"Come,  dear,"  I  said;  "you  must  not 
mind  Mrs.  Wilbur.  She  is  a  vain,  foolish 
woman.  If  she  has  hurt  your  feelings, 
she  has  shown  herself  coarse  and  vulgar. 
Perhaps  we  had  better  order  a  close  car 
riage  and  go  back  to  the  dear  Dona 
Maria,"  I  continued,  jumping  at  the  op 
portunity  to  escape  from  our  difficult  sur 
roundings. 


MARIPOSILLA.  177 

"No,  no!  "  she  cried,  passionately;  "let 
us  not  go  away.  I  will  be  foolish  no  more. 
I  will  look  no  more  into  the  silver  shrine 
if  only  we  may  stay  longer." 

It  was  impossible  to  repulse  her  confi 
dence.  I  could  not  then  urge  her  to 
shield  her  love  from  the  probabilities  of 
disappointment.  I  could  not  add  to  the 
anguish  of  her  afternoon.  I  shrank  from 
assisting  Mrs.  Wilbur  in  her  cowardly 
attack.  At  present  I  must  wait.  A  few 
days,  at  most,  would  restore  the  child  to  the 
care  of  her  mother.  I  would  then  know 
better  what  course  to  pursue. 

In  my  inmost  heart  I  believed  that 
Sidney  Sanderson  would  be  willing  to 
marry  the  beautiful  Spanish  girl,  but  as 
yet  I  could  not  interpret  his  mother. 

I  was  beginning  to  feel  more  and  more 
the  woman's  artful  depth,  but  yet  I  did 
not  really  doubt  her. 

Mariposilla  was  now  quite  composed; 
the  thought  of  our  return  to  the  ranch  had 
silenced  her  at  once.  She  bathed  her  face 
and  dressed  for  dinner  with  the  greatest 
care,  soon  appearing  as  if  nothing  had 
occurred  to  disturb  her. 

In  defiance  to  the  pelting  rain,  an  im- 

12 


178  MARIPOSILLA. 

promptu  dance  was  arranged  for  the 
evening. 

After  dinner  the  young  people  flew  to 
their  rooms  to  improvise  fancy  costumes, 
for  Mrs.  Sanderson  had  decided  that  the 
ball  should  be  masque*., 

The  lady  showed  at  once  great  energy 
in  arranging  the  costumes  to  be  worn  by 
Mariposilla  and  Sidney.  After  consider 
able  maneuvering,  she  succeeded  in  con 
verting  her  son  into  a  splendid  Spanish 
cavalier.  She  had  upon  her  wall  a  superb 
trophy  of  a  sombrero,  ornate  with  silver 
decorations,  which,  with  other  trifles  and  a 
red  silk  scarf  properly  arranged,  com 
pleted  the  gallant  don  of  the  past.  Mari 
posilla,  in  her  actual  character  of  sweet 
senorita,  was  enveloped  in  a  rich  mantilla 
of  black  lace,  coquettishly  caught  upon 
the  shoulders  and  to  the  hair  with  pink 
roses.  A  short  black  satin  petticoat  dis 
played  the  pretty  little  feet,  encased  in 
dainty  slippers  that  shone  with  jeweled 
buckles.  The  girl's  bare  arms  and  hands 
glittered  with  the  contents  of  Mrs.  San 
derson's  jewel  box. 

We  all  confessed  that  we  had  never  seen 
anyone  more  beautiful.  The  theatrical 


MARIPOSILLA.  179 

yet  natural  character  which  she  assumed 
had  driven  away  every  vestige  of  her  de 
pression.  Never  before  had  the  child 
appeared  so  gay.  Mrs.  Wilbur's  most 
insinuating  remark  had  now  no  sting. 
The  joyous  present  was  enough;  she 
would  not  believe  that  the  future  might 
be  full  of  tears. 

I  remembered,  long  afterwards,  how 
Sidney  Sanderson  had  forgotten  to  look 
bored;  and  how  both  he  and  Mariposilla 
had  neglected  everyone  in  the  room  but 
each  other,  like  two  happy  children  in 
their  devotion. 

Not  once  again  while  we  remained  in 
the  hotel  did  I  see  a  shadow  upon  Maripo- 
silla's  brow.  In  vain  did  Mrs.  Wilbur  en 
deavor  to  excite  her  jealousy.  The  child 
was  too  happy  to  doubt.  Each  moment 
she  grew  more  beautiful,  maturing  almost 
as  we  watched  her,  with  the  ripening  influ 
ences  of  her  strong  first  love. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  breath  of  Easter  was  in  the  air.  It 
was  hard,  even  in  that  last  penitential 
week,  to  renounce  the  seductive  wooings 
of  those  first  April  days.  In  the  little 
Episcopal  chapel,  or  in  the  venerable  Mis 
sion,  we  acknowledged  each  evening  our 
infirmities;  but  with  all  our  abnegation, 
there  was  for  some  of  us  an  heterodox 
satisfaction  in  hastening  away  from  our 
prayers. 

We  wanted  to  exult,  rather  than  to  be 
moan  "  our  manifold  sins  and  wickedness." 

We  were  not  sufficiently  impressed  with 
our  depravity  to  smell  brimstone,  when 
the  air  was  richly  purified  with  the  scent 
of  orange  blossoms  and  millions  of  new 
born  roses. 

Doubtless  our  lenten  orthodoxy  would 
have  developed  more  strongly  in  the  cut 
ting  blast  of  a  Manitoba  blizzard.  We 
would  have  felt  more  contrite,  drawn  by 
the  persuasive  chastisements  of  a  sweet 
spring  cyclone.  But  in  such  days  as  the 

(180) 


MARIPOSILLA.  181 

ones  which,  followed  each  other  like  glad 
birds  in  a  flock,  it  was  difficult  to  assume 
a  despondency  adequate  to  the  penitential 
demand. 

The  Gold  of  Ophir  rose  and  Mariposilla 
were  now  blooming  together.  The  old 
house  was  bright,  outside  and  in,  with  light 
and  glory. 

From  the  veranda  and  the  crest  of  the 
roof,  long  sprays  of  dazzling  bloom  swept 
voluptuously  to  the  sky.  In  the  blushing 
hearts  of  myriads  of  buds  and  blossoms, 
the  sun  whispered  each  day  his  rapturous 
secrets. 

Wonderful  from  its  first  hour  of  triumph 
until  its  last  pale,  dilapidated  petals  have 
fallen  to  the  ground  —  a  moral  to  its 
transient  magnificence  —  this  rose  is  tragic. 

It  seems  always  the  glorious  prototype 
of  Mariposilla,  who  ever  stole  its  fickle 
lights  and  shades.  As  I  watched,  through 
tnose  eventful  weeks,  the  marvelous  un 
folding  of  bud  to  flower  and  child  to 
maiden,  I  was  never  able  to  separate  them 
in  my  thoughts.  Their  analogy  was  cap 
tivating. 

I  have  already  said  that  I  learned  in 
stinctively  to  watch  for  the  girl's  mood  in 


MARIPOSILLA. 


the  complexion  of  the  rose.  When  the 
edges  of  its  petals  burned  with  fire,  I 
knew  that  Mariposilla,  too,  glowed  with 
hope  and  ecstasy.  When  the  fog  smote 
sullenly  the  golden  heart  of  the  Ophir,  I 
felt  without  looking  that  the  girl,  too,  was 
pale,  tortured  with  jealousy,  and  indefi 
nite  forebodings.  Thus  for  me  there  will 
always  remain  the  fancy  that  between 
this  rose  and  the  Spanish  child  there  ex 
isted  a  kinship  —  a  subtile  sympathy,  that 
each  unconsciously  felt  when  the  other 
was  near. 

Looking  back  over  those  happy  days, 
they  seem  fraught  with  no  ordinary  con 
ditions.  Unconsciously  all  took  part  in 
the  several  acts  of  a  realistic  drama. 

I  see  now,  as  I  could  not  then  see,  the 
innumerable  cues,  the  important  by-play 
and  scenic  situations,  which  eventually  led 
up  to  an  inevitable  climax. 

As  the  weeks  glided  away,  I  no  longer 
doubted  Sidney  Sanderson's  love  for  Mar 
iposilla.  Had  there  been  a  sign  of  oppo 
sition  on  the  part  of  his  mother,  I  would 
have  warned  the  Dona  Maria.  But,  to  the 
contrary,  Mrs.  Sanderson  increased  her 
affection  daily  for  her  pretty  plaything; 


MARIPOSILLA.  183 

often  alluding  to  the  girl's  beneficial  in 
fluence  upon  her  son. 

"The  scamp  is  head  and  ears  in  love!  " 
she  said  one  day.  "Just  look  at  him.  I 
should  die  of  rage  and  jealousy  if  I  didn't 
adore  his  sweetheart  myself,"  she  con 
fided. 

Mariposilla  and  Sidney  were  at  the  far 
end  of  the  veranda,  oblivious  to  all  but 
each  other. 

The  woman  then  went  as  far  as  to  inti 
mate  that  a  few  years  in  a  fashionable 
New  York  school  would  do  all  that  was 
necessary  for  Mariposilla. 

"  Beauty  such  as  hers  would  be  ruined 
by  rigorous  education.  Fortunately,  Sid 
hates  wise  women.  Imagine  Mariposilla 
developing  the  occult  transitions  of  theo- 
sophy.  Come  here,  you  pretty  butterfly!  " 
she  cried.  "  Sid  is  a  greedy  boy  to  keep 
you  away  so  long.  Go  fetch  the  guitar; 
I  am  just  in  the  humor  for  music." 

Thus  the  woman  countenanced  the 
wooing,  petting,  and  enriching  with  gifts 
the  happy  child,  while  she  silenced  my 
own  doubts  and  those  of  the  Dona  Maria. 

That  Mrs.  Sanderson  was  selfish, 
worldly,  and  at  times  mercenary,  I  well 


184  MARIPOSILLA. 

knew.  However,  these  very  attributes 
led  me  to  believe  that  she  would  gratify 
herself  and  her  son.  I  knew  how  thor 
oughly  she  would  enjoy  the  absolute  con 
trol  of  Mariposilla,  how  extravagantly  she 
would  equip  her  with  the  elegancies  of 
life,  exulting  that  Sidney's  wife  eclipsed 
always  the  beauty  of  other  women. 

Beauty  she  worshipped. 

It  had  never  occurred  to  her  that  Sid 
ney  might  possibly  marry  a  plain  woman. 

"If  Sid  should  marry  a  homely  girl, 
I  should  hate  her,"  she  said,  one  day.  "  Is 
he  not  splendid?"  she  would  ask,  when 
her  son  chanced  to  dwarf  physically  his 
associates. 

And  Sidney's  exterior  was  admirable. 
He  dressed  perfectly,  and  there  was  about 
him  the  freshness  of  perpetual  bathing. 
To  Mariposilla  he  was  the  ideal  type  of 
masculine  American  elegance. 

She  scorned  each  day  in  her  secret  soul 
the  careless,  unconventional  dress  of  the 
remaining  Spanish  men  of  her  acquaint 
ance,  feasting  her  eyes  with  childish  de 
light  upon  every  detail  of  her  lover's 
faultless  attire. 

Yet,  withal,  Sidney  was  not  a  fop.     He 


MARIPOSILLA.  185 

was  too  blase,  and  at  times  too  sullen,  to 
represent  the  gibbering  class  to  which  his 
immaculate  and  ultra-fashionable  clothes 
might  have  otherwise  attached  him.  But 
his  unbounded  reticence  was  his  greatest 
protection;  while  it  gave  him,  with  some, 
a  reputation  for  depth.  Many  believed 
that,  although  not  brilliant  in  conversa 
tion,  he  sympathized  silently  with  culture, 
and  was  shrewd  in  business  affairs.  In 
truth,  Sidney  had  never  taken  an  active 
part  in  his  mother's  financial  transactions; 
but  that  her  son  was  a  dummy  she  care 
fully  concealed.  There  was  a  laudable 
spirit  in  the  woman's  attitude.  Her  affec 
tionate  subserviency  to  her  boy  in  the 
eyes  of  their  friends  was  admirable. 

I  had  so  often  seen  wealthy  mothers 
humiliate  and  belittle  their  sons,  that, 
although  I  believed  Mrs.  Sanderson  to  be 
the  business  brains  of  the  family,  I  was 
glad  that  she  abstained  from  flaunting  the 
fact. 

I  think  I  understood  the  elements  of  Mrs. 
Sanderson's  character  at  that  time  quite 
well,  with  one  exception.  Unfortunately, 
I  stopped  too  soon  in  my  analysis.  I  inno 
cently  took  it  for  granted  that  she  pos- 


186  MARIPOSILLA. 

sessed  a  moral  side  to  her  worldly  and 
perhaps  frivolous  nature.  Here  was  my 
fatal  mistake.  I  did  not  understand  that 
the  woman  would  unflinchingly  sacrifice 
any  one  for  selfish,  momentary  enjoyment. 

In  all  cases  her  own  pleasure  was  sug 
gested  by  the  inclinations  of  her  son.  To 
keep  him  contented  and  passably  respect 
able,  she  would  have  ruined  her  dearest 
friend. 

Ethel  Walton  was  arranging  an  enter 
tainment  to  take  place  shortly  after 
Easter.  The  girl  was  an  enthusiast. 
Everything  that  she  did  called  for  her 
heart's  best  efforts. 

Her  present  schemes  were  charitable. 
The  Episcopal  church  needed  an  organ, 
and  Ethel  had  determined  that  the  neces 
sary  money  should  be  raised.  Her  artis 
tic  and  really  poetic  nature  had  found  an 
outlet  in  the  existing  emergencies  of  her 
church,  and  she  boldly  originated  a  grand  ' 
rose  pageant.  Each  day  she  grew  more 
enthusiastic  over  her  prospects  of  success. 

All  the  youth  and  beauty  of  Pasadena 
had  been  pressed  into  the  carnival.  The 
opera-house  had  been  generously  donated 
by  the  owner;  while  the  papers  each  day 


MARIPOSILLA.  187 

keyed  to  the  highest  pitch  the  expecta 
tions  of  the  public,  by  promising  the  most 
ravishing  display  of  beauty  and  flowers 
ever  gathered  upon  the  celebrated  Pacific 
Coast. 

Even  the  Dona  Maria  had  been  beguiled 
into  loaning  treasures  from  the  sacred 
green  chest.  But,  best  of  all,  she  had  gen 
erously  consented  to  allow  Mariposilla  to 
dance,  when  Ethel  explained,  in  her  pretty 
way,  that  everyone  was  taking  part,  for 
the  glory  of  Pasadena,  if  not  for  the 
church. 

"  Will  you  believe  it? "  she  said;  "  I  have 
had  scarcely  any  opposition.  My  dances 
are  all  full,  and  I  have  two  magnificent 
marches  composed  of  beauties,  whose 
scrupulous  parents  can't  quite  go  the 
tripping,  but  are  delighted  to  allow  their 
consciences  a  constitutional  walk." 

The  rehearsals  were,  of  course,  an  inter 
esting  excuse  to  go  to  Pasadena;  and  each 
week  we  drove  over  with  Mariposilla. 
At  home  she  was  continually  practicing 
her  steps,  and  the  clicking  of  castanets 
soon  grew  familiar.  She  was  alive  with 
enthusiasm  and  expectation;  while  her 
costume  to  be  worn  upon  the  eventful 


188  MARIPOSILLA. 

night  became  a  matter  for  our  united 
thoughts,  before  it  was  at  last  satisfac 
torily  designed. 

It  was  all  that  the  Dona  Maria  could  do 
to  restrain  her  restless  child  through  the 
long,  religious  hours  of  Good  Friday. 
When  they  knelt  together  in  the  old 
church,  Mariposilla  listened  not  to  the 
solemn  prayers.  Sternly  her  mother 
rebuked  her  inattention;  but  the  girl's 
eyes  were  flooded  with  happy  dreams,  and 
she  forgot  over  and  over  again  the  crape  - 
draped  cross.  The  pictures  of  the  stern, 
gloomy  saints  failed  to  frighten  her  into  a 
state  of  contrition.  Only  to  the  Virgin 
did  she  sometimes  lift  her  wandering  eyes 
to  implore  protection  for  the  lover  now 
absent  from  her  side. 

When  the  sun  rose  gloriously  upon  the 
last  day  of  the  penitential  season,  Mari- 
posilla's  spirits  rose  too.  Nothing  could 
restrain  her. 

"  I  am  most  tired  of  prayers!  "  she  cried, 
innocently  joyous  in  her  emancipation,  as 
we  went  together,  at  the  request  of  the 
Dona  Maria,  for  lilies. 

Like  a  field  of  snow  in  the  sunshine  the 
tall,  pure  flowers  bloomed  in  symbolic 


MARIPOSILLA.  189 

beauty,  for  the  world's  glad  festival.  Our 
offering  to  the  sweet  Mother  and  the 
holy  Child  was  a  thousand  —  and  on 
Easter  day  they  would  make  glorious  the 
old  church. 

For  j^ears  the  Doiia  Maria  had  dressed 
the  ancient  Mission  for  Easter,  and  for 
several  seasons  her  daughter  had  also 
assisted.  Now  for  the  first  time  the  girl 
plead  excuses. 

She  wanted  to  go  to  Pasadena  with 
Sidney  and  Mrs.  Sanderson,  as  there  was 
to  be  a  rehearsal  of  her  dance  in  the  after 
noon  and  Ethel  had  urged  them  to  drive 
over  early  and  lunch  at  Crown  Hill. 

Sadly  the  Dona  Maria  turned  from 
the  basket  of  white  roses  she  had  just 
gathered. 

"  What!  "  she  exclaimed,  "  does  my  child 
refuse  to  honor  the  sweet  Mother  and  the 
holy  Child?  Never  before  has  she  thought 
it  other  than  joy  to  arrange  the  holy 
altar." 

"  Forgive  Mariposilla,  dear  Dona  Maria," 
I  said.  "  Let  me  assist  this  year,  and  later, 
when  the  work  is  completed,  I  will  drive 
the  child  myself  to  the  rehearsal." 

To  this  arrangement  the  mother  agreed, 


190  MARIPOSILLA. 

and  in  consequence  we  had  gone  for  the 
lilies  early,  reaching  the  old  church  in 
advance  of  other  workers. 

As  we  drove  through  the  long,  shaded 
roads  of  San  Gabriel,  the  waysides  seemed 
lined  with  devotees.  Everyone  was  going 
to  some  church  with  flowers.  Wagon- 
loads  of  lilies  and  roses  were  soon  a  com 
mon,  though  not  less  beautiful  spectacle. 
Loveliest  of  all  were  the  little  children, 
hastening  eagerly  upon  their  sweet  errand, 
with  arms  almost  hidden  beneath  fragrant 
burdens. 

We  met  one  small  child  carrying  in 
proud  distinction  a  cross  of  violets. 
Another  bore  a  crown  of  golden  poppies, 
smiling  with  the  light  of  the  foothills. 

When  we  approached  the  Mission,  groups 
of  Mexican  children,  many  of  them  in 
their  bare  feet,  thronged  about  us  with 
-'  funny  little  offerings,  composed  of  flowers 
whose  astonishing  tones  were  often  a  mad 
blending  of  orange  and  deep  pink. 

The  near  advent  of  the  happy  festival 
had  awakened  in  these  humble  breasts 
and  uncultivated  natures  a  God-given 
love  for  the  beautiful.  Each  arrange 
ment  of  flowers  told  a  touching  story.  In 


MARIPOSILLA.  191 

every  bunch  was  hidden  the  angel  of  the 
child  who  gathered  it. 

When  we  halted  with  our  fresh  burden, 
Father  Ramirez,  who  was  standing  in  the 
doorway  of  the  ancient  church,  hastened 
with  courtly  consideration  to  assist  us. 
The  old  priest  commanded  the  staring 
children  (in  Spanish)  to  carry  the  flowers 
into  the  church,  as  he  gallantly  hitched 
our  horse. 

Once  free  from  the  wagon,  I  found  it 
impossible  to  resist  the  picturesque  old 
stone  stairway,  which  leads  from  the 
ground  to  the  choir  above.  Stealing  a 
moment  from  my  duties,  I  ran  up  the 
rough,  time-worn  steps,  and  from  a  little 
overhanging  balcony  caught  the  morning 
vision  of  the  valley,  stretching  peacefully 
beyond. 

"Some  time  I  must  come  here  in  the 
moonlight,"  I  said,  as  I  descended  and 
entered  the  chilly  old  church.  "  Surely  I 
would  learn  sweet  secrets  which  the  sun 
each  day  effaces." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

IT  had  been  an  eventful  day  for  Ethel 
Walton.  Now  but  a  brief  half  hour  re 
mained  to  determine  the  creditable  suc 
cess  of  the  rose  pageant. 

With  a  sandwich  in  her  hand,  she  had 
slipped  into  the  rear  passage  leading  to 
the  door  of  Mrs.  Sanderson's  box. 

"  No,  I  can't  come  in,"  she  replied  to  her 
friend's  entreaty  to  enter.  "  I  want  just 
one  little  peep  at  the  audience,  while  I  eat 
my  supper.  I  must  feel  particularly  in 
spired  in  this  last  dreadful  moment.  And 
the  house  is  grand,"  she  exclaimed,  tri 
umphantly.  "  '  Delightful  to  the  ravished 
sense,' "  she  hummed,  enveloping  herself 
gleefully  in  the  folds  of  a  sheltering 
portiere. 

"What  a  relief,  after  all  these  weeks! 
Sister  has  just  come  from  the  front,  where 
they  are  actually  speculating  on  the  tick 
ets.  It  sounds  too  good  to  be  true.  I 
hear  the  distant  strains  of  the  new  organ!" 
she  cried,  dramatically.  "  If  only  we  can 

(192) 


MARIPOSILLA.  193 

postpone  the  murder  of  the  calcium  light 
man  by  our  bloodthirsty  Professor  Tiptoe 
success  is  ours!" 

She  flew  gaily  from  the  box  to  attend 
to  the  last  few  arrangements  that  prefaced 
the  overture. 

Pasadena's  handsome  opera  house  had 
been,  possibly,  the  supremest  blessing  of 
the  great  boom.  At  the  time  it  was  built, 
few  doubted  the  absolute  necessity  of  a 
rival  city  for  the  south  of  the  State.  For 
tunately  for  beautiful  Pasadena,  the  men 
with  visions  were  ruthlessly  awakened  to 
find  Los  Angeles  still  the  acknowledged 
commercial  center  of  the  valley.  In  the 
meantime,  her  aristocratic  suburb  had  an 
opera  house  and  a  number  of  other  de 
lightful  conveniences  that  might  have 
been  delayed  in  the  absence  of  a  boom. 

The  audience  assembled  upon  the  night 
of  the  pageant  indicated  assured  prosper 
ity.  The  sight  was  an  opulent  surprise 
for  the  uninstructed  stranger.  Not  a 
vacant  seat  was  visible.  The  upper  gal 
leries  were  crowded  to  the  wall ;  many 
were  standing  in  the  aisles. 

From  our  box  we  rejoiced  for  Ethel  in 
the  finished  brilliancy  of  the  scene. 
13 


194  MARIPOSILLA. 

"  Every  one  in  the  set  is  here  but  the 
Prince  of  Wales,"  Mrs.  Sanderson  re 
marked,  jestingly,  as  she  surveyed  with 
honest  astonishment  the  elaborate  equip 
ments  of  the  evening. 

Extending  completely  around  the  bal 
cony,  across  the  proscenium,  and  encirc 
ling  both  upper  and  lower  boxes,  bloomed 
a  variegated  band  of  exquisite  roses,  four 
feet  in  width. 

Here  and  there  the  luxurious  band 
turned  from  a  knot  of  glorious  Duchesse 
into  a  stretch  of  Mare"chal  Neil,  which 
farther  on  caught  hold  of  the  vivid  Henri 
etta.  Touching  close  the  pure  French 
rose-color,  the  simple,  unaffected  La 
Marque  lay  like  a  field  of  snow  between 
voluptuous  meadows  —  for  next  beyond, 
almost  throbbing,  scintillating  with  every 
change  of  the  lights,  shone  the  Gold  of 
Ophir. 

In  its  distinctive  beauty,  it  seemed  to 
steal  from  the  wonderful  galaxy  of  bloom 
the  composite  glory  of  all. 

Last  in  the  wonderful  band,  the  Jacque 
minot  imparted  its  dark  beauty,  also  its 
rich  odor  of  high-born  culture  that  lingers 
in  the  petals  long  after  their  color  has  fled. 


MARIPOSILLA.  196 

Although  the  general  scheme  of  the 
pageant  had  been  a  secret,  it  was  soon 
understood  that  the  roses  used  in  the  dec 
oration  of  the  auditorium  were  sympa 
thetic  representatives  of  those  personified 
upon  the  stage. 

Each  dance  was  to  be  an  idealization  of 
a  particular  rose.  In  the  audience/ per 
sonal  preferences  were  quite  noticeable  ; 
for  favorite  dances  were  boldly  cham 
pioned,  not  only  in  corsage  bunch  and 
boutonnieres,  but  by  superb  bouquets  of 
enormous  size. 

It  is  doubtful  if  more  beautiful  floral 
decorations  were  ever  seen.  Viewed  from 
the  stage,  the  dress  circle  and  parquet  ap 
peared  a  huge  garden  of  beauty;  the 
boxes,  fairy  bowers,  twined  with  their 
representative  roses. 

Those  attending,  almost  without  excep 
tion,  were  in  full  evening  dress. 

Gay  parties  of  visitors  from  the  various 
hotels  waited  eagerly  for  the  rise  of  the 
curtain,  satisfied  that  the  decorations  of 
the  house  justified  great  expectations  for 
the  performance.  Anon,  were  heard  sur 
prised  confessions  from  the  provincial 
Easterner,  who  had  for  the  first  time 


196  MARIPOSILLA. 

discovered  the  existence  of  a  civilized 
West. 

Mrs.  Wilbur  laughingly  owned  that  her 
only  opportunity  for  enjoying  a  peep  at 
the  notorious  "  wild  and  woolly  "  was  one 
afternoon  when  she  had  gone  into  Los 
Angeles  to  a  wild  and  woolly  show  from 
New  York.  The  show  pretended  to  rep 
resent  the  common  peculiarities  of  the 
West,  whereas  she  blushed  to  acknowl 
edge  it  an  embarrassing  portrayal  of  East 
ern  conceit  and  prejudices. 

Mariposilla  was  to  dance  in  the  Spanish 
dance.  She  was  to  personify  the  Gold  of 
Ophir  rose  —  their  subtile  charms  would 
mingle  at  last. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  relate  that  our 
box  bloomed  with  her  chosen  rose  ;  that 
we  ourselves  heralded  our  devotion  by 
wearing  no  rose  but  the  Gold  of  Ophir. 

As  the  overture  died  away,  the  curtain 
lifted  upon  a  scene  at  once  familiar  with 
local  beauty.  The  time  of  year  was  sup 
posed  to  be  November  ;  and  at  the  foot  of 
the  protecting  Sierra  Madre,  whose  tops 
stretched  away  in  the  distance,  we  beheld 
the  old  garden  of  Las  Flores.  The  gray 
haze  of  summer  still  hung  about  the 


MARIPOSILLA.  197 

peaks,  for  the  Silver  Harlequin,  the  son  of 
the  mighty  Rain  God,  had  not  come. 

Nature  was  inactive,  as  yet  unable  to 
overcome  the  lethargy  of  her  annual  rest. 

In  the  garden,  sheltered  by  interlacing 
trees  and  tall  palms,  upon  a  couch  of  ver 
dure,  slept  the  goddess  Flora  —  her  pagan 
spirit  now  at  last  purified  and  free,  after 
weary  wanderings  in  regions  of  ice  and 
snow. 

Close  to  the  Goddess  slumbered  the 
golden  Poppies,  who  ring  always  the  first 
sweet  bells  of  spring.  The  Poppies  were 
dainty  children,  whose  golden  heads  and 
gowns  of  yellow  and  green  told  instantly 
the  story  of  the  Foothills.  The  music, 
which  from  the  first  had  been  soft  and 
dreamy,  now  suddenly  grew  harsh.  Its 
poetry  was  gone,  for  stealing  into  the 
peaceful  garden  came  the  ashy  Breath  of 
the  torrid  Desert. 

At  last  he  had  outwitted  the  Silver 
Harlequin,  the  son  of  the  mighty  Rain 
God!  and  his  diabolical  joy  was  horrible  to 
behold.  His  agile  movements  were  won 
derful,  as  he  appeared  to  actually  float 
through  the  air.  One  moment  he  leered 
at  the  unconscious  Goddess,  the  next  he 


198  MARIPOSILLA. 

satirized,  in  a  demoniac  dance,  the  belated 
Harlequin.  Then,  unable  to  control  his 
mad  fury  longer,  he  summoned  from  his 
desert  kingdom  an  army  of  Cacti  to  de 
spoil  the  beautiful  Valley.  At  the  head 
of  this  evil  legion,  bristling  with  cruel 
needles,  and  grotesquely  formidable  in  its 
reality,  the  Breath  of  the  Desert  took 
formal  possession  of  the  Happy  Valley. 
Through  excited  gestures  he  commanded 
the  Cacti  to  take  root  in  the  fruitful  land, 
to  spear  the  charming  plants  and  choke 
the  tender  flowers ;  while  he  breathed 
upon  the  sleeping  Flora  his  own  fiery 
breath,  that  she  might  never  again  gaze 
into  the  shining  face  of  the  Silver  Harle 
quin,  or  feel  the  touch  of  the  gentle 
maiden,  Spring. 

But  his  conquest  is  short,  for,  even  as 
he  exults,  the  Silver  Harlequin  appears, 
glittering  and  strong,  from  the  realms  of 
the  Rain  God. 

In  his  hand  is  the  magic  sword  with 
which  he  fells  to  the  ground  the  now 
powerless  Cacti;  then,  in  majestic  anger, 
challenges  to  single  combat  the  vile 
usurper. 

A  moment  the  irreconcilable  enemies 


MARIPOSILLA.  199 

pause,  and  then  ensues  a  deadly  fight; 
thrilling'  and  uncertain  as  the  passionate 
music  leads  it  on.  Again  and  again  each 
combatant  strives  for  mastery.  Implac 
able  hate  flashes  from  their  burning  eyes 
as  their  merciless  swords  strike  fiercer  and 
fiercer.  Now,  wilder  grows  the  combat; 
wilder  speaks  the  music,  until  at  last  the 
fatal  plunge  is  made.  The  magic  sword 
of  the  Rain  God's  son  has  triumphed.  At 
the  feet  of  the  glittering  Harlequin  the 
Breath  of  the  Desert  falls. 

The  music  then  sank  into  a  low,  sweet 
whisper  of  melody,  while  at  the  same 
instant  the  precious  rain  was  heard.  The 
veil  of  mist  ascended  from  the  glad  "  Mother 
Mountains,"  and  a  glorious  rainbow  pro 
claimed  the  advent  of  the  gentle  maiden, 
Spring,  who  came  joyfully  from  the  Magic 
Canon.  In  her  train  danced  a  company  of 
wee,  fairy  raindrops,  who  deluged  the 
Valley  gleefully  with  showers  from  their 
sparkling  wands. 

Spring  held  in  her  hand  the  magic  fern, 
stolen  from  the  queen  of  the  highest 
waterfall  of  the  Enchanted  Canon. 
With  her  glittering  band  she  descended 
the  mountain  to  do  obeisance  before  the 


200  MARIPOSILLA. 

mighty  Harlequin;  then  with  the  wonder 
ful  fern  she  awoke  the  golden  Poppies 
and  the  sleeping  Goddess. 

In  the  second  scene,  Nature  is  fully 
>  aroused,  and  gracious  Flora  smiles  again. 
The  maiden,  Spring,  pulsing  with  joy,  clad 
in  a  robe  of  palest  green,  adorned  with 
sprays  of  maidenhair  from  the  far,  cool 
canon,  the  breath  of  almond  blossoms  in 
her  golden  locks,  dances  before  the  Harle 
quin  the  dance  of  Spring.  Gliding  about 
the  garden  she  tells  her  wonderful  secret 
with  poetic  grace,  falling  at  last  upon  her 
knees  before  her  shining  master,  who 
commands  her  to  bid  the  Poppies  ring 
once  more  the  glad,  golden  bells  of 
Spring. 

No  words  are  spoken.  All  is  action  — 
poetry  in  motion,  intensified  by  music. 

As  the  drop  fell  on  each  of  the  scenes, 
the  house  grew  stormy  with  applause,  the 
air  sweet  with  flying  bouquets;  while  the 
audience  turned  one  to  another  to  exclaim 
at  what  they  had  seen,  and  to  speculate 
upon  what  was  yet  to  come. 

The  curtain  now  rose  upon  the  carnival 
of  the  Foothills. 

The  season  had  advanced  to  the  latter 


MARIPOSILLA. 


part  of  February,  and  from  field  and  road 
side  trooped  the  wild  flowers. 

In  a  succession  of  charming  dances  and 
marches,  children  and  young  girls  per 
sonified,  in  artistic  and  sympathetic  cos 
tumes,  the  wealth  of  wild  flowers  which 
each  year  adorns  the  Southern  California 
spring.  First  came  the  Poppies,  ringing 
long  chimes  of  golden  bells  to  the  music 
of  their  dainty  yellow  feet,  while  close  to 
them  marched,  in  bewildering  phalanx, 
the  delicate  lavender  Brodiseas.  The 
Brodiaeas  were  graceful  maidens  in  aesthe 
tic  gowns,  overlaid  with  the  effective  flow 
ers  that  trailed  from  a  belt,  like  green  silk 
cords  tipped  with  purple  tassels.  Their 
pilgrim  hats  were  solid  with  purple  bloom; 
their  long  pilgrim  staves  a  marvel  of  love 
liness,  covered  with  ferns  and  nodding 
lavender  flowers. 

Next  came  the  Wild  Daisies  —  dear  little 
girls  in  quaint,  creamy  gowns,  sprinkled 
with  yellow  field  flowers.  On  their  heads, 
demure  Dutch  caps  produced  the  impres 
sion  of  careworn  Gretchens,  as  they  sat 
upon  three-legged  daisy  stools,  knitting 
their  stint  of  a  daisy  stocking.  Last,  from 
the  Foothills  came  the  Baby-Blue-Eyes  — 


202  MARIPOSILLA. 

wee  men  in  blue,  trundling-  small  wheel 
barrows  overflowing  with  starry  blue 
flowers. 

When  each  group  of  wild  flowers  had 
in  turn  completed  the  dance  or  march 
expressing  its  idealized  part  in  the  carni 
val,  they  together  formed  into  a  tri 
umphant  tableau  as  the  curtain  fell, 
stormed  again  with  enthusiastic  applause. 

But  the  event  of  the  evening  was  yet  to 
come.  The  rose  pageant  was  about  to 
begin,  and  Mariposilla  would  soon  dance. 

Thus  far  there  had  been  no  delay  in  the 
performance,  no  uncertainty,  no  halt.  We 
rejoiced  momentarily  for  those  who  had 
worked  so  tirelessly. 

The  director  of  the  orchestra,  a  German, 
intense  and  enthusiastic,  had  worked  hand 
in  hand  with  Ethel  to  interpret  to  the 
highest  degree  her  poetic  ideas.  The  lit 
tle  man's  delight  was  visibly  manifest  as 
the  performance  proceeded.  Not  once  did 
the  music  halt,  not  once  did  the  intelligent 
leader  fail  to  intensify  the  climax  of  the 
stage. 

When  the  drop  rose  for  the  grand 
pageant  of  the  season  a  hush  was  upon 
the  house. 


MARIPOSILLA.  203 

Then  murmurs  escaped  from  all. 

"  How  superb1 "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Sander 
son,  her  handsome,  critical  face  softening 
with  pleasure. 

It  was  now  the  season  of  Easter;  the 
rapturous  Valley  was  in  its  glory.  High 
up  in  the  mountains,  in  a  wooded  canon, 
fringed  with  growing  ferns,  beneath  a 
canopy  of  roses,  we  beheld  the  Goddess. 
The  simple  outlines  of  her  classic  robe 
defined  her  nobly.  Her  charming,  gra 
cious  bearing  was  beyond  expression,  her 
serene  beauty  the  theme  of  all. 

Before  her  knelt  the  Silver  Harlequin. 

With  dignity  the  smiling  Flora  com 
manded  him  to  arise  and  produce  the 
pageant  of  Roses,  the  glory  of  the  year. 
Now,  in  obedience  to  the  Harlequin's 
magic  sword,  the  Spirit  of  Easter  is  felt 
in  the  land.  Mission  chimes  smite  sud 
denly  the  air.  The  music  deepens  into  a 
grand  march,  while  the  bells  strike  time 
to  its  solemn  measures.  Then  appears  a 
wonderful  procession  moving  slowly  to  the 
old  church;  for  from  the  far-reaching 
ranches  of  the  Valley  have  assembled 
strong  youths  and  sweet  senoritas.  The 
snowy  robes  of  the  neophytes  are  em- 


204  MARIPOSILLA. 

bellished  with  symbolic  stoles  of  white 
roses;  in  their  hands  they  carry  long  fronds 
from  the  date  palm,  that  wave  as  they 
march  to  the  victorious  strains  of  the 
music.  The  girls  follow,  wonderfully 
beautiful  in  the  ever-changing  lights  that 
intensify  their  pure  robes,  or  color,  with 
violet,  and  green,  and  amber,  the  long, 
floating  veils  fastened  to  crowns  of  white 
roses.  Pure  roses  deck  their  throats  and 
glistening  arms,  while  in  their  hands  they 
bear  tall  tapers  in  rose  candlesticks.  Like 
a  beautiful  vision  they  pass  and  repass, 
the  waving  palms  and  shining  tapers  tell 
ing  a  sweet  story  of  youthful  devotion  to 
a  poetic  religion.  Then  the  music  deepens, 
the  fickle  lights  intensify,  and  the  old  bells 
ring  sadly  and  solemnly  the  chimes  of  a 
picturesque  and  dead  past. 

As  the  White  Roses  drifted  away,  the 
scene  suddenly  changed. 

In  a  blaze  of  light  and  music,  the  Silver 
Harlequin  now  called  before  the  Goddess 
an  array  of  dainty  color  and  grace.  Step 
ping  the  faultless  measures  of  a  court 
quadrille  came  the  ladies  of  the  Duchesse 
Rose.  Clad  in  Empire  gowns  of  pink, 
garlanded  with  pink  roses,  wearing  huge 


MARIPOSILLA.  205 

hats  from  under  whose  rose-laden  brims 
they  glanced  with  coquettish  charm,  they 
took  all  hearts  by  storm. 

Next  in  the  marvelous  pageant  came 
the  Yellow  Butterflies,  born  in  the  hearts 
of  the  great  Marechal  Neil.  One  by  one  they 
flitted  with  bright  yellow  wings  from  the 
dark  hiding-places  of  the  garden. 

The  sixteen  glancing  creatures  were 
blondes.  Golden  hair  floated  about  their 
white  shoulders,  and  golden  crowns  sus 
tained  the  jeweled  antennae,  which  quiv 
ered  while  they  danced.  Mare*chal  Neil 
roses  clung  to  their  gowns  and  smiled 
into  their  faces,  as  they  poised  and  wavered 
in  the  gorgeous,  ever-changing  lights. 

Now  from  the  distant  Orient  were  seen 
approaching  dark  beauties  clad  in  the 
purest  rose  color.  They  were  borne  by 
slaves  of  the  Sultan  in  sumptuous  sedans 
covered  with  rich  Henrietta  roses.  As 
the  beauties  left  their  flower  chairs,  they 
posed  gracefully  before  the  goddess,  then 
sped  away  to  perform  a  charming  tambo- 
rine  dance,  which  fully  realized  the  now 
exalted  expectations  of  the  audience. 

Hardly  had  the  roses  of  the  Orient  van 
ished  before  the  garden  was  again  brill- 


206  MARIPOSILLA. 

iant.  The  sweet  Jacqueminots  had  come  in 
dainty  aprons,  big  kerchiefs,  and  colonial 
caps.  Industriously  the  pretty  maidens 
plied  the  rose-twined  spinning  wheels  of 
their  grandmothers,  until  the  imaginary 
stint  was  spun;  then,  abandoning  their 
picturesque  wheels,  they  joined  in  an  old- 
fashioned  dance  upon  the  green. 

When  the  colonial  maids  had  passed 
from  sight,  followed  by  rounds  of  patri 
otic  applause,  Mrs.  Sanderson  moved 
nearer  to  the  front  of  the  box. 

"The  senoritas  have  discharged  their 
spiritual  duties;  they  are  coming  now 
to  dance,"  she  said,  smiling,  as  she 
eagerly  scanned  the  side  approaches  of 
the  stage. 

She  had  but  ceased  to  speak  when  from 
secluded  Spanish  gardens,  flourishing  now 
only  in  the  imagination  of  the  aliens  who 
destroyed  them,  came  the  dark,  happy, 
historic  senoritas. 

Emotional,  fickle,  passionate — rare  per 
sonifications  of  their  typified  rose  —  the 
matchless,  wonderful  Gold  of  Ophir.  A 
hush  of  surprise  for  a  moment  pervaded 
the  house;  then  its  enthusiasm  burst  forth, 
when  the  sixteen  senoritas  began  to  weave 


MARIPOSILLA.  207 

and  glance  in  the  intricate  measures  of 
an  old  Spanish  dance. 

"  Where,"  whispered  Mrs.  Wilbur,  "  did 
Miss  Walton  find  these  marvelous  creat 
ures?  And  how  did  she  create  such  cos 
tumes?  " 

"  The  coloring  is  perfect,"  Mrs.  Sander 
son  declared.  "  The  fickle  shading  is  all 
there,  showing  in  every  detail.  See  how 
the  Ophir  buds  nestle  in  the  yellow  lace 
mantillas.  The  effect  is  thrilling." 

Fast  and  daintily  flew  the  thirty-two 
golden  feet.  Brilliantly  flashed  the  jew 
els  on  the  white  arms,  swung  high  at  the 
bidding  of  castanets.  Then  the  spirit  of 
the  music  changed,  and  the  senoritas  van 
ished  into  the  shadow  of  the  trees,  to  re 
turn  instantly  with  gorgeous  hoops  of 
Ophir  roses.  Dancing  again,  they  formed 
at  last  on  each  side  of  the  garden. 

From  this  living  phalanx  of  bloom,  ex 
tending  like  twin  sprays  of  the  marvelous 
Ophir,  sprang  Mariposilla. 

Shaming  not  her  prototype,  she  stood 
before  us,  the  vision  of  all  that  we  had 
anticipated. 

For  a  moment  she  hesitated,  trembling 
like  an  Ophir  bud  in  the  breeze.  Then  her 


208  MARIPOSILLA. 

lovely,  tearful  eyes  sought  for  Sidney. 
For  once  in  his  life,  the  man  forgot  himself. 
For  once,  honest  emotion  swayed  him. 

Leaning  unconsciously  from  the  box, 
enamored,  forgetful  of  the  audience,  spell 
bound,  he  snatched  from  his  coat  the  rose 
that  Mariposilla  had  given  him.  Pressing 
it  to  his  lips,  he  flung  it  at  the  feet  of  the 
trembling  child. 

It  was  enough.  The  dancer's  response 
told  passionately,  without  words,  what  she 
never  could  have  said. 

Her  form  seemed  suddenly  enveloped 
in  translucent  light.  She  was  oblivious 
to  everything  but  the  rapturous  moment. 

Clad  in  the  fatal  satin  skirt  of  the  Dona 
Maria's  little  dead  sister;  about  her  throat, 
the  coveted  necklace  of  opals,  and,  drap 
ing  her  beautiful  head,  the  filmy  yellow 
wedding  lace  of  her  mother,  she  danced 
as  she  never  danced  before.  She  seemed 
a  marvelous  apparition,  freed  from  a 
haunted  chamber  of  the  Alhambra.  With 
every  step,  with  every  movement  of  the 
palpitating  figure,  with  every  droop  of  the 
deep-fringed  eyelids  and  every  fling  of 
the  glancing  arms,  the  ecstatic  passion  of 
her  young  life  was  manifest. 


MARIPOSILLA.  209 

Unconsciously  she  imparted  to  the  dance 
of  her  nation  the  tragic  possibilities  of  her 
nature. 

Forgetting  all  restraint,  all  method,  she 
abandoned  her  liberated  body  to  the  emo 
tions  of  her  throbbing  soul. 

Long  afterward,  all  remembered  how 
she  had  swayed  the  great  house  into  irre 
sistible  tumult;  then  suddenly  had  floated 
mysteriously  away,  lost  in  the  dazzling 
retreat  of  the  senoritas. 

The  pageant  terminated  with  a  superb 
tableau,  symbolizing  the  end  of  the  pro 
lific  rose  season. 

At  Easter,  and  for  a  number  of  weeks 
after/nature  grows  prodigal.  Then  comes 
a  lull.  The  roses  have  exhausted  them 
selves.  The  brilliant  carnival  is  over,  and 
a  number  of  weeks  must  now  elapse  be 
fore  the  vines  and  bushes  gather  strength 
to  flower  again. 

With  an  appropriate  accordance  to  real 
ity,  the  closing  tableau  represented,  with 
poetic  significance,  the  return  of  Spring, 
accompanied  by  wild  flowers  and  roses,  to 
the  Magic  Canon. 

From  the  front  of  the  garden  the  bril 
liant  procession  wound  upward  in  tiers  of 

14 


210  MARIPOSILLA. 

harmonious  color,  until,  far  above  in  the 
mountains,  the  Silver  Harlequin  and 
Spring  stood  close  to  the  entrance  of  the 
Magic  Canon.  From  the  heart  of  this 
enchanted  spot  all  had  issued — a  divine 
secret;  all  were  again  returning  to  sleep 
until  nature  bid  them  once  more  arouse. 
This  last  magnificent  spectacle  was  glori 
fied  by  strong  rose  lights;  while  from 
above  a  silent  rain  of  variegated  rose 
petals  fell  like  a  soothing  benediction. 

When  the  curtain  was  at  last  down, 
the  artistic  and  financial  success  of  the 
pageant  was  the  theme  of  the  entire 
community. 

The  profits  of  the  matin e"e,  to  be  given 
the  next  afternoon,  would  more  than 
defray  expenses,  and  the  proceeds  of 
this  victorious  night  would  be  safe. 

Ethel  and  her  able  assistants  were 
happy  with  excitement.  Upon  the  now 
demoralized  stage  they  were  receiving 
congratulations  from  throngs  of  friends. 
Ethel  stood  like  a  delighted  child  between 
her  father  and  the  rector,  when  Mrs. 
Sanderson  approached  to  utter  the  pretty 
things  she  always  said  so  well. 

At  her  side  stood  Mariposilla,  flushed 


MARIPOSILLA.  211 

and  submissive  to  the  woman's  bold  ca 
resses. 

"Our  little  Butterfly  is  weary  after 
her  wonderful  flight,"  the  lady  said,  turn 
ing  to  the  rector  in  her  inimitable  way. 
"Bring  the  little  one's  cloak,  Sidney,"  she 
continued,  addressing  her  son,  who  went 
at  once  to  find  a  rich,  fur-lined  garment 
belonging  to  his  mother. 

"  There,"  she  said,  when  the  young  man 
returned  with  the  wrap  and  placed  it 
solicitously  about  Mariposilla,  "the  dear 
child  will  now  be  quite  safe  from  a  cold." 

The  running  hither  and  thither  was  at 
last  decreasing.  The  lights  were  growing 
dim  and  the  performers  were  rapidly  dis 
persing.  We  ^  ourselves  were  just  leaving 
the  stage,  when  Ethel  flew  to  my  side  and 
claimed  Mariposilla  for  the  night. 

"  She  must  come  home  with  me,"  she 
declared.  "  I  want  to  take  care  of  her  for 
to-morrow.  It  is  perfect  nonsense  for  her 
to  drive  to  San  Gabriel  when  she  must 
return  at  noon  to-morrow.  I  am  deter 
mined  to  have  my  own  way  to-night,"  she 
cried.  "  It  is  the  duty  of  all  to  spoil  me 
this  once,"  she  declared,  when  Sidney 
interfered,  volunteering  to  bring  Maripo- 


212  MARIPOSILLA. 

silla  to  the  opera  house  in  good  season  the 
next  day. 

"No,  sir,"  said  the  girl  with  an  oracular 
shake  of  her  finger,  "  Mariposilla  belongs 
to  me  to-night.  You  may  control  her 
movements  after  to-morrow." 

Reluctantly  the  child  yielded  to  the 
decision  of  Ethel.  As  she  parted  from 
her  lover  she  unconsciously  smiled  up 
into  his  face  a  regretful  good-night  that 
answered  touchingly  his  own  silent  renun 
ciation. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

ETHEL  went  early  to  the  opera  house 
the  morning  after  the  eventful  night  of  the 
pageant.  The  flowers  would  need  fresh 
ening,  and  the  girl  was  determined  that 
the  matine*e  should  give  full  satisfaction 
to  those  who  had  been  denied  the  excite 
ment  of  the  opening  night.  She  knew  that 
many  delicate  persons  and  children  would 
attend  in.  the  afternoon.  There  would 
also  be  critical  ones,  who,  having  failed  to 
secure  tickets  in  time  for  the  evening  per 
formance,  would  come  to  the  matine'e,  per 
haps  with  ungenerous  spirits.  For  these 
reasons  Ethel  desired  that  the  decorations 
of  the  house  and  stage  should  both  de 
light  and  astonish,  as  they  had  done  upon 
the  previous  evening. 

Afterward  the  girl  told  how  she  had 
felt  almost  like  weeping  when  she  entered 
alone  the  dark,  chilly  opera  house. 

"  It  seemed  like  a  great  tomb,  with  its 
thousands  of  wilting  roses,"  she  said.  "  Un 
til  joined  by  others,  I  was  filled  with  a  hor- 

(213) 


214  MARIPOSILLA. 

rible  depression.  I  felt  as  if  something 
miserable  was  about  to  happen.  The 
flowers  really  looked  no  worse  than  I 
had  expected,  for  the  gorgeous  band  was 
still  effective;  but  its  first,  perfect  fresh 
ness  was  gone,  its  roses  were  dying,  and 
I  was  alone  at  their  death.  Of  course," 
she  continued,  "  I  felt  better  when  we  cov 
ered  the  withered  places  with  fresh  roses, 
but  I  was  still  restless  and  foolishly  appre 
hensive." 

Yet,  with  all  the  girl's  uneasiness,  she 
had  little  time  for  indulging  nervous  pre 
sentiments.  There  was  much  work  to  be 
done,  and  the  time  was  short.  Even  when 
the  decorations  had  been  satisfactorily 
freshened,  her  unreliable  performers 
would  have  to  be  looked  after. 

One  girl  had  left  a  candlestick,  which 
must  be  retrimmed;  another  had  forgot 
ten  to  take  home  her  hoop,  which  had  to 
be  twined  with  fresh  Gold  of  Ophir  roses. 
Last  of  all  she  must  collect  and  sort 
carefully  all  the  necessary  articles  that 
would  be  called  for  by  fair  irresponsibles 
at  the  very  last  moment. 

When  I  joined  her  in  the  green  room  at 
one  o'clock,  she  looked  anything  but  de- 


MARIPOSILLA.  215 

jected,  as  she  dabbed  energetically  the 
contents  of  a  rouge  pot  onto  the  cheeks 
of  a  procession  of  maidens,  filing  in  turn 
before  her. 

"There!  go  in  peace,  and  dance  your 
best,"  she  cried,  flinging  away  the  ruddy 
rag  as  the  last  of  the  file  passed  on  to  the 
artist  who  was  doing  the  eyes. 

"  Everything  moves  anxiously  to-day," 
the  girl  said,  pathetically,  while  she  rested 
a  moment  against  the  wall.  "  I  suppose  I 
am  a  simpleton,  but  I  feel  as  if  the  crack 
of  doom  were  at  hand.  Mariposilla  is 
late,  although  I  told  them  to  send  her  at 
half  past  twelve,  and  the  Harlequin's  wife 
has  forgotten  his  cap,"  she  said,  almost 
hysterically,  as  she  turned  from  my  side  to 
answer  a  volley  of  unnecessary  questions. 

"  Where  shall  we  go,  Miss  Walton? " 

"  Miss  Walton,  can't  I  have  some  paint 
on  my  cheeks? " 

"  Please,  Miss  Walton,  my  slipper  is  un 
tied!  " 

"  Miss  Walton,  my  sister  has  lost  her 
hat." 

"  Go  directly  onto  the  stage  and  stay, 
in  readiness  for  your  positions,"  the  girl 
answered,  distractedly. 


216  MARIPOSILLA. 

"  Come,"  I  said,  hoping  to  take  her  a 
moment  out  of  herself,  "  Come  with  me 
into  one  of  the  flies;  I  have  something  to 
tell  you." 

"Dear  me,"  she  exclaimed,  "what  can 
have  become  of  Mariposilla? " 

"She  is  safe  to-day,"  I  answered,  as  we 
entered  the  fly.  "  She  is  safe  to-day!  But 
what  will  become  of  her  to-morrow?  The 
Sandersons  have  gone! " 

"The  Sandersons  gone!"  the  girl  re 
peated,  in  excitement.  "  Where  have 
they  gone? " 

"  They  left  to-day  at  noon  for  New  York, 
to  enable  Sidney  to  marry,  if  possible, 
Gladys  Carpenter.  Her  father  has  just 
died.  With  his  death  the  daughter  in 
herits  three  millions." 

The  words  had  but  escaped  my  lips 
when  a  commotion  in  the  adjoining  fly 
betokened  some  catastrophe.  In  a  second 
we  had  pushed  through  a  crowd  of  fright 
ened  girls,  to  bend  in  horror  over  the 
prostrate  form  of  Mariposilla. 

"  She  is  dead,"  cried  Ethel.  "  She  heard 
what  we  said  and  our  words  have  killed  her.  ' 

"Hush!"  I  whispered,  "she  has  only 
fainted.  Get  water  quickly." 


MARIPOSILLA.  217 

Ethel  flew  at  my  bidding,  while  I 
unfastened  the  little  bodice  that  but  a 
moment  before  had  heaved  so  lightly  with 
the  pulsations  of  a  happy  heart.  Dear 
little  Butterfly,  I  thought,  how  cruelly 
have  your  poor  little  wings  been  crushed! 

Hot,  indignant  tears  rained  from  my 
eyes,  as  I  superstitiously  unclasped  the 
opal  necklace,  once  worn  by  the  beautiful, 
unfortunate  Lola. 

Ethel  had  now  returned  with  the  water, 
and  the  crowd,  still  pressing  about  us,  was 
creating  a  panic. 

"Stand  back,"  I  cried.  "  Don't  you  see 
you  are  taking  every  breath  of  the  air? " 
As  I  spoke,  the  excited,  curious,  theatrical 
throng  fell  away. 

Enveloped  in  her  mother's  wedding  lace, 
that  in  the  fall  had  shrouded  her  with  pro 
phetic  significance,  Mariposilla  lay  like  one 
dead,  unconscious  of  a  miserable  awaken 
ing.  As  I  bent  beside  her  I  almost  dreaded 
to  see  the  heavy  fringes  lift  from  the  beau 
tiful  eyes  that  I  feared  would  never  shine 
again  with  their  old  happy  light. 

"  Dear  child  !  "  I  whispered,  as  I  applied 
the  water,  "  what  can  we  do  to  mend 
your  poor  little  broken  heart? " 


218  MARIPOSILLA. 

While  I  yet  spoke,  the  delicate  eyelids 
began  to  quiver,  and  a  little  hand  to  trem 
ble.  A  tired  sigh  and  then  a  stifled  sob 
burst  from  the  lips. 

"  Darling,  be  brave,  you  have  only 
fainted.  I  will  take  you  home  to  the 
dear  Dona  Maria,"  I  said,  as  naturally 
as  I  could. 

Mariposilla  lifted  her  great  sorrowful 
eyes  in  mute  entreaty;  then  two  heavy 
tears  rolled  to  her  cheeks,  imploring  me 
to  fulfill  my  promise.  I  knew  that  it  was 
best  to  take  her  home  while  she  wished  it. 

In  her  weakness  she  had  not  the 
strength  to  realize  her  sorrow.  She 
seemed  almost  to  have  forgotten  the 
occasion  of  her  shock,  for  she  closed  her 
eyes  at  once,  and  submtited  almost  uncon 
sciously  to  her  transportation  to  the  car 
riage.  Tenderly  we  placed  her  on  the 
very  cushions  from  which  she  had  sprung, 
but  a  few  hours  before,  radiant  and  expect 
ant. 

Would  she  not  see  Sidney!  The  cruel 
night,  and  the  long,  uneventful  forenoon 
were  at  last  over.  Now  she  could  dance 
again  for  her  lover.  When  it  was  all  over, 
she  would  ride  away  with  him  in  the  gay 


MARIPOSILLA.  219 

trap.  He  would  tell  her  once  more  how 
fondly  he  loved  her.  Tell  her  how  beauti 
ful  she  was — how  much  more  beautiful 
than  the  cold,  wise  Gladys.  Then  she 
would  go  again  to  the  dear,  bright  hotel 
for  dinner.  She  would  sit  by  Sidney.  He 
would  watch  her  every  desire,  and  when 
dinner  was  ended  they  would  go  to  the 
pretty  sitting-room,  where  she  would  look 
fearlessly  into  the  silver  shrine;  for  never 
again  would  she  be  jealous  and  weep.  No, 
no!  not  when  her  lover  had  sworn  that  he 
loved  not  the  cold,  beautiful  Gladys;  that 
he  cared  not  for  her  riches  or  accomplish 
ments.  Then,  after  a  while,  all  would  go 
to  the  ball-room;  Sidney  would  lead  her 
to  dance,  and  Mrs.  Wilbur  would  be  un 
happy.  But  she  —  she,  Mariposilla,  would 
be  joyful! 

Poor,  foolish  little  Butterfly,  flitting 
eagerly  from  flower  to  flower,  drinking, 
unconsciously,  deadly  poison  with  honey, 
how  cruelly  different  from  the  sweet 
dreams  of  the  morning  would  be  the 
realities  of  the  evening: 

While  she  ran  gaily  from  the  carriage 
at  noon,  full  of  sweet,  innocent  visions,  the 
ironic  interpretation  of  her  pitiful  fate 


220  MARIPOSILLA. 

was  even  then  decided.  For,  flying  from 
rash  promises,  flying  from  the  distractions 
of  her  beauty,  flying  from  the  tardy 
entreaties  of  conscience  —  Sidney  San 
derson  and  his  mother  had  gone. 

With  every  intervening  mile  they  were 
outstripping  her  ruined  love,  were  near- 
ing  the  selfish  goal  of  the  mother's  ambi 
tions;  nearing  the  desolate  Gladys,  who, 
bowed  with  grief,  and  ignorant  of  all, 
would  take,  at  the  entreaty  of  her  dead 
mother's  friend,  the  reluctant  lover  who 
could  never  make  her  happy. 

Poor  Gladys!     Poor  Mariposilla! 

Even  before  I  allowed  myself  to 
acknowledge  the  perfidy  of  the  woman 
with  whom  I  had  been  so  intimately  asso 
ciated,  I  began  to  understand  her,  when, 
early  in  the  morning,  a  groom  from  the 
hotel  brought  me  a  note,  asking  me  to 
drive  over  at  once,  as  they  were  to  leave 
that  day  at  noon  for  the  East. 

"  Duty  compels  us  to  go,"  Mrs.  Sander 
son  wrote,  shamelessly. 

The  word  "  duty  "  aroused  at  once  my 
suspicions.  I  felt  with  a  creeping  cer 
tainty  that  Gladys  Carpenter  was  the 
woman's  prey.  I  believed  that  some 


MARIPOSILLA.  221 

unexpected  turn  of  fortune  had  revived 
Mrs.  Sanderson's  ambitions. 

I  was  sure  that  she  had  at  one  time 
relinquished  all  hope  of  obtaining  the 
heiress  for  her  son;  but  I  felt  on  my  way 
to  the  hotel  a  sudden  presentiment  that, 
on  account  of  some  unlooked-for  occur 
rence,  she  was  going  to  New  York  to 
revive  her  abandoned  schemes. 

I  felt  an  uncomfortable  stiffness  as  I 
entered  the  once  familiar  sitting-room, 
now  in  a  state  of  wild  disorder. 

Mrs.  Sanderson  was  on  her  knees,  pack 
ing  the  last  trunk.  Upon  the  floor  were 
piles  of  clothing  and  innumerable  trifles, 
which  she  had  torn  from  the  wall. 

"  Dear  child!  How  good  of  you  to  come!  " 
she  said,  extending  her  hand  with  brazen 
determination.  "  It  would  have  broken 
our  hearts  to  have  left  without  seeing 
you.  And  dear  Mariposilla!  and  Pet 
Marjorie,  and  the  good  Dona  Maria  — 
how  can  we  ever  be  reconciled  to  leave 
them?" 

"  Why  is  your  departure  compulsory? " 
I  asked,  coldly. 

The  woman  perceived  instantly  that  I 
understood  her,  but  her  control  was  per- 


222  MARIPOSILLA. 

feet.  Her  will  was  diabolical,  yet  for  a 
moment  a  gleam  of  anger  darkened  her 
eyes.  Then  she  answered  naturally: 

"  Dear  Gladys  has  lost  her  father.  She 
is  perfectly  crushed,  and  has  wired  us  to 
come  at  once." 

I  stood  like  a  stone,  while  she  told 
again  of  the  intimate  relations  that  had 
always  existed  between  the  families. 

"  Gladys  is  just  like  my  own  child,"  she 
continued,  turning  away  her  face  with  the 
pretense  of  forcing  a  protruding  Indian 
basket  into  the  trunk.  "We  are  so  dis 
appointed  to  miss  the  matine'e,"  she  said, 
with  her  face  still  in  profile.  "  Sid  begged 
to  stay  until  to-morrow,  just  to  see  Mari- 
posilla  dance,  but  I  persuaded  him  that  it 
would  be  brutal  to  neglect  Gladys  one 
moment  longer  than  the  necessary  time 
for  our  miserable  journey." 

Before  I  could  reply  she  had  crossed  the 
room  to  her  son,  who  was  fumbling  over  a 
finished  trunk. 

"Don't  touch  the  things  in  the  tray," 
she  cried,  nervously.  "  I  never  saw  such 
a  boy.  This  morning  he  actually  packed 
books  on  top  of  my  best  tea-gown." 

I  knew  that  the  insolence  of  the  woman 


MARIPOSILLA.  223 

had  cowed  me.  She  was  sublime  in  her 
villainy. 

I  stood  nelplessly  rooted  to  the  spot 
which  I  had  first  selected  upon  entering  the 
room.  Too  weak  to  stand  unsupported,  I 
leaned  against  the  table.  My  perverse 
silence  must  have  astonished  the  woman, 
but  she  talked  on  loquaciously,  appearing 
not  to  notice  my  lack  of  interest. 

How  I  despised  her!  How  hard  she 
looked  to-day,  when  only  the  night  before 
I  had  thought  her  charming  and  humane. 

Doubtless  she  had  slept  but  little  since 
she  left  the  box  in  the  Pasadena  opera 
house.  In  the  strong  morning  light  she 
looked  old  and  strangely  haggard.  Dark 
circles  defined  more  clearly  the  faint  net 
work  of  wrinkles  beneath  her  eyes.  Her 
whole  countenance  was  drawn  with  the 
tension  of  her  anxious  night. 

Her  aristocratic  nose  seemed  elongated 
with  the  avaricious  thinness  noticeable  in 
grayhounds  when  the  chase  is  at  its 
height.  Even  the  delicate,  shapely  hands 
appeared  parched  and  old. 

Never  again  would  I  think  of  the  woman 
as  beautiful. 

I  saw  her  now  for  the  first  time  in  her 


224  MARIPOSILLA. 

true,  deplorable  character.  With  but  one 
object  to  accomplish,  her  masterful  selfish 
ness  had  taken  possession  of  her  soul. 
Closing  tightly  its  chamber,  she  refused 
to  hear  the  entreaties  of  the  outraged 
voice  that  plead  in  vain.  For  Mrs.  San 
derson,  retribution  was  the  ghost  of  the 
cowardly;  repentance,  a  science  to  be 
skillfully  ignored. 

I  could  endure  my  thoughts  no  longer. 

"Good  bye,"  I  said,  coldly,  as  I  walked 
mechanically  to  the  door. 

As  I  spoke,  the  woman  raised  herself 
with  decision  from  the  floor.  With  out 
stretched  hands  she  attempted  a  fraudu 
lent  embrace ;  but  I  anticipated  the 
movement  in  time  to  escape. 

"No,  no!"  I  cried,  in  childish  tremolo  ; 
"  you  must  not  touch  me.  I  will  not  pre 
tend  that  I  am  sorry  that  I  will  never  see 
you  again.  I  will  never  forget  what  you 
have  done.  Now  I  will  go  away,  despis 
ing  you,  to  the  unhappy  child  whose  life 
you  have  ruined  for  selfish  amusement 
and  the  idle  entertainment  of  your  son!" 

At  last  I  had  spoken,  and  at  last  she  re 
coiled  before  me. 

Without  waiting  to  hear  what  she  would 


MARIPOSILLA.  225 

attempt  to  say,  I  fled  like  Lot  from  the 
City  of  Destruction.  But  fatal  curiosity  I 
had  not,  and  I  cared  not  how  the  Sander 
sons  writhed  in  the  fire  of  my  indignation. 

My  only  desire  was  to  get  out  of  the 
house  and  never  see  them  again. 

As  I  left  the  hotel  the  groom  in  waiting 
advanced  to  drive  me  home. 

"I  will  walk,"  I  said  curtly,  spurning 
even  this  last  attention  from  the  woman  I 
had  left. 

Later  in  Pasadena,  when  I  heard  the  de 
parting  shriek  of  the  Overland,  with  its 
echo  flung  fatefully  back  from  the  moun 
tains  as  the  train  rounded  a  curve,  I  knew 
that  the  Sandersons  had  cut  loose  forever 
from  the  complications  of  their  San  Ga 
briel  episode. 

In  justice  to  Sidney,  I  believe  him  to 
have  been  the  better  of  two  bad  people:  I 
believe  that  in  his  sensual  selfishness 
he  would  willingly  have  resigned  his 
mother's  ambitions  in  regard  to  a  mar 
riage  with  Gladys  Carpenter,  glad  to  en 
joy,  for  a  time  at  least,  the  simple  fascina 
tions  and  marvelous  beauty  of  Maripo- 
silla. 

The  man  was  so  perfectly  carnal,   so 

15 


226  MARIPOSILLA. 

easily  bored  by  the  least  intellectual  supe 
riority  in  a  woman,  that  I  believe  he  would 
have  remained  true  to  his  own  choice,  had 
it  not  been  for  his  mother's  threats  and 
positive  command  to  marry,  if  possible,  the 
three  millions  at  hand. 

I  know  that  the  thought  of  the  classic, 
high-bred,  sorrow-bowed  Gladys  must  have 
been  a  cold  shock,  after  his  recent  associa 
tions  with  Mariposilla.  He  must  have  re 
membered  long  how  the  Spanish  girl 
adored  him  openly  with  all  her  young 
heart.  Perhaps  even  as  he  went  away  the 
man  held  in  cowardly  reserve  the  possi 
bilities  of  a  refusal  from  the  heiress. 

I  knew  without  being  told  that  the  con 
flict  between  the  mother  and  son  had 
been  bitter.  The  mother  had  conquered, 
but  Sidney  had  managed  to  write  a  part 
ing  note  to  his  abandoned  sweetheart, 
which  the  poor  child  unfortunately  re 
ceived.  His  slender  promises  only  de 
layed  her  final  despair,  making  it  hopeless 
for  those  about  her  to  arouse  her  pride  or 
to  graft  in  her  trusting  heart  a  proper  dis 
dain  for  the  false  lover. 

I  afterwards  read  his  cowardly  note,  and 
saw  clearly  its  import. 


MARIPOSILLA.  227 

Now  that  Mrs.  Sanderson  had  at  last 
wearied  of  her  infatuation,  the  proud, 
high-born  Gladys,  with  her  millions,  would 
eclipse  a  dozen  Spanish  beauties.  Soon 
she  would  laugh  and  jest  over  the  affair 
with  her  New  York  friends,  describing 
Mariposilla  delightfully,  while  she  en 
larged  upon  the  poor  child's  passion  for 
her  son. 

I  have  since  wondered  if  the  Spanish 
girl  would  have  been  happy  had  Fate  con 
sented  to  her  choice.  I  sometimes  believe 
that  eventually  the  restraints  and  require 
ments  of  the  untried  life  would  have 
wearied  her.  I  also  believe  that  with  a 
nature  so  true,  so  simple  and  affectionate, 
she  would  have  done  her  best  to  excel  in 
the  eyes  of  those  she  loved.  In  a  respon 
sive  atmosphere  her  proud  ambition  would 
have  fulfilled  her  will.  With  the  cold  and 
critical  she  would  have  lost  her  subtile 
charm.  Away  from  her  mountains  and 
unconventional  life  she  might  have  learned 
sad  lessons.  She  could  never  have  conned 
them  alone  without  an  aching  heart  ;  for, 
like  her  rose,  she  would  have  grown  pale 
and  dejected  away  from  the  sunlight  of 
love. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

IN  Southern  California  that  part  of  the 
year  extending  from  the  middle  of  No 
vember  to  the  middle  of  May  virtually 
represents  to  the  stranger  its  season. 

The  secret  of  the  delightful  summer, 
tempered,  especially  in  the  San  Gabriel 
Valley  and  the  vicinity  of  Santa  Barbara, 
by  unfailing  sea-breezes,  would  astonish 
the  infidel  tourist  who  has  flown  excitedly 
away,  stubbornly  denouncing  the  summer 
as  unbearable.  Perhaps  he  has  experi 
enced  two  or  three  warm  days  in  May  that 
have  played  a  trick  on  the  tardy  trade 
winds.  If  so,  he  comprehends  perfectly, 
from  a  few  weeks'  sojourn,  the  imminent 
danger  of  climatic  cremation. 

He  believes,  ignorantly,  that  he  has  fled 
from  the  mid  tropics,  when  he  mops  the 
damp  perspiration  from  his  gigantic  brain- 
front  in  the  dizzy  June  of  an  interior  town. 
Devoutly  thanking  the  kind  Providence 
that  has  returned  him  to  Tuckersville,  he 
proceeds  to  write  for  the  Tuckersville  Sun 


MARIPOSILLA.  229 

full  particulars  relating  to  the  climate  and 
limited  resources  of  Southern  California. 

Still,  contrary  to  the  slanders  of  the 
Tuckersville  man,  the  weather,  with  the 
exception  of  a  few  warm  days  in  the  early 
spring,  remains  delightfully  cool  from  the 
middle  of  April  until  the  middle  of  August. 

September  is  possibly  less  agreeable,  for 
it  is  then  that  people  are  apt  to  believe 
themselves  tired  or  warm,  and  there  is  a 
general  wishing  for  change. 

In  the  sweet,  quiet  summer,  one  wishes 
for  nothing. 

Refreshing  breezes  from  the  broad  Pa 
cific  extend  inland  for  many  miles,  and  if 
occasional  warm  days  come,  the  coast  is 
near  by,  always  inviting  for  a  day  those 
who  do  not  care  to  stay  long  by  the  sea, 
or  cannot  afford  a  protracted  outing. 

For  those  who  desire  weeks  of  recrea 
tion  and  salt  bathing,  the  Pacific  coast 
offers  every  advantage.  On  the  irresistible 
Santa  Catalina  Island,  at  the  pleasant 
hotels  that  dot  the  coast,  or  in  the  poor 
man's  sequestered  canon  close  to  the  sea, 
there  are  opportunities  of  rest  and  enjoy 
ment  for  all. 

To  the  resident  of  the  San  Gabriel  Val- 


230  MARIPOSILLA. 

ley,  who  truly  loves  its  grand,  natural 
beauty  enough  to  enjoy  the  free  gifts  of 
each  day,  there  is  about  the  summer  a 
never-ending  sense  of  peace  and  rest. 

The  winter  months  are  restless  and 
rushing  —  full  of  social  excitement  and 
alive  with  indefatigable  sight-seers.  As 
long  as  the  tourist  is  abroad  in  the  land 
his  presence  is  a  perpetual  challenge.  His 
disappointments  are  personally  felt  each 
day  by  his  friends. 

It  is  unfortunate  that  much  of  the  pic 
turesque  hospitality  of  earlier  days  should 
have  given  way  to  a  more  laborious  and 
less  charming  mode  of  entertaining.  Now, 
the  Marthas  of  pretentious  country  houses 
and  elegant  villas  are  "cumbered  about 
much  serving." 

I  had  fortunately  escaped  both  conven 
tion  and  routine  in  my  life  with  the  Dona 
Maria  Del  Valle,  but  I  had  been  drawn  by 
degrees  into  an  experience  that,  from  the 
beginning,  was  an  anxious  strain.  I  was 
now  almost  ill;  I  needed  a  change  and  the 
sea. 

Yet  I  dared  not  desert  Mariposilla,  for  I 
felt  daily  the  burden  of  the  part  I  had 
taken  in  establishing  her  intimacy  with 


MARIPOSILLA.  231 

the  Sandersons.  I  was  determined  to 
restore,  if  possible,  her  stolen  happiness. 
The  child  seemed  now  comparatively 
docile  and  less  changed  than  I  had  feared. 
I  did  not  expect  her  to  resist  at  once  her 
first  crushing  disappointment,  but  in  a 
few  weeks  I  expected  to  take  her  to  the 
seashore,  when  I  hoped  to  surround  her 
with  new  friends  and  new  pleasures. 

Time  alone  could  help  her,  and  I  was 
full  of  hope. 

I  had  now  fully  determined  to  educate 
Mariposilla,  to  fit    her,  with    the    Dona 
Maria's  permission,  for  intimate  contact, 
with  the  dangerous  world. 

So  infatuated  I  became  with  my  plans 
that  I  again  misunderstood  the  girl,  while  I 
foolishly  lost  sight  of  her  race  inheritances. 

I  thought  she  would  revive,  after  a  time, 
as  an  American  girl  would  have  revived. 
I  expected  her  to  be  restored,  with  new 
beauties  of  mind  and  character. 

As  the  days  went  by  and  nothing  un 
usual  happened,  I  told  myself,  joyfully,  that 
experience  was  working  the  cure.  I  be 
lieved  that  soon  a  womanly  scorn  would 
heal  effectually  the  wound  which  Sidney 
Sanderson  had  inflicted. 


232  MARIPOSILLA. 

The  girl  had  not  grown  less  beautiful. 
With  her  trouble  there  had  come  into  her 
face,  after  the  first  wild  paroxysms  of 
grief,  a  look  that  I  could  not  interpret.  I 
know  now  that  it  was  the  reflection  of 
hope,  a  hungry,  superstitious  expectancy 
that  tugged  hourly  at  her  heart. 

Sidney's  parting  note  had  inspired  in 
the  ignorant  girl  the  faith  that  he  would 
return. 

She  had  grown  very  gentle.  She  went 
regularly  to  mass,  and  arranged  flowers 
each  day  in  front  of  the  little  Spanish  Vir 
gin.  One  day  I  noticed  that  she  had 
wreathed  the  picture  in  ivy,  and  ever 
after  the  grotesque  little  Mother  dis 
played  her  finery  subdued  by  the  dark, 
cool  leaves. 

In  the  child's  own  room  was  carefully 
treasured  every  trifling  relic  of  Sidney's 
past  devotion.  She  had  decked  the  white 
washed  walls,  in  imitation  of  Ethel  Wal 
ton's  aesthetic  chamber,  with  every  small, 
sweet  souvenir  of  the  winter.  The  favors 
she  had  received  at  the  eventful  holiday 
cotillion  surrounded  the  little  looking- 
glass.  Above  her  bed  hung  a  cane  and  a 
cast-off  tennis  cap  of  Sidney's ;  while 


MARIPOSILLA.  233 

tenderly  hidden  from  sight,  except  when 
she  opened  the  drawer  each  day  to  weep, 
were  the  innumerable  trinkets  and  gifts 
that  her  false  lover  had  given  her. 

Every  empty  candy-box  and  every 
withered  flower  had  been  lovingly  saved. 

She  still  wore  about  her  throat  the  little 
necklace,  but  the  bracelet  she  concealed 
pitifully  beneath  her  sleeve. 

Each  day  she  dressed  with  unusual  care, 
expecting  always  the  return  of  her  lover. 

One  day  a  lover  came.  Not  Sidney,  for 
whom  her  poor  heart  pined,  but  Arturo, 
her  kinsman. 

There  was  no  scene,  as  we  had  feared, 
for  the  Dona  Maria  had  warned  the  young 
man  to  restrain,  for  the  present,  all  signs 
of  impatient  passion. 

"Speak  to  her  not  of  love,"  she  said, 
sadly,  when  she  had  confided  to  the  burn 
ing,  indignant  youth  by  her  side  the  pres 
ent  state  of  Mariposilla's  feelings.  "  The 
poor,  foolish  child  yet  believes  that  the 
American  will  return,"  she  explained. 
"  Be  patient,  dear  son,"  the  Dona  Maria 
besought  when  Arturo  chafed  under  his 
tedious  restraint ;  "  the  American  will 
soon  marry  the  choice  of  his  mother ; 


234  MARIPOSILLA. 

then  will  my  poor  deluded  child  lie 
crushed  ;  yet,  by  the  will  of  God,  she  will 
revive. 

"  Tell  her  not  yet  of  love,  only  of  the 
success  and  riches  which  you  have  gained. 
Treat  her  gently,  as  a  sister,  and  in  time 
all  may  be  as  we  desire." 

It  was  surprising  how  considerate  the 
handsome,  hot-headed  Arturo  remained, 
restrained  always  by  the  quiet  persuasions 
of  the  firm,  quiet  Dona  Maria. 

The  boy's  unexpected  return  had  been 
full  of  comfort  to  the  lonely  Spanish 
woman.  She  loved  her  grandnephew  as 
a  son  ;  while  she  rejoiced  daily  that  the 
young  man  was  growing  more  and  more 
like  her  own  lost  Arturo,  whose  name  he 
bore. 

As  the  summer  wore  away,  the  Dona 
Maria  grew  content.  She  believed  that 
Mariposilla  would  outgrow  her  sorrow,  that 
in  time  Arturo  would  be  successful  in  his 
suit,  and  that  she  might  yet  live  to  hold 
in  her  arms  the  children  of  her  dear 
ones  —  dark,  rich  little  beauties,  who 
would  preserve  through  yet  another  gen 
eration  the  inheritance  of  the  Spanish 
blood. 


MARIPOSILLA.  235 

"  How  often  did  I  weep  when  I  thought 
of  my  child  united  not  with  one  of  her 
own  race.  When  I  saw  in  my  dreams 
grandchildren — pale  little  ones  that  I  could 
not  love,  I  cared  scarcely  to  live,"  she  said, 
pathetically. 

With  the  exception  of  the  Dona  Maria's 
mother,  who  was  now  confined  to  her  bed, 
our  household  moved  as  usual. 

Arturo  took  a  masterful  charge  of  the 
neglected  ranch,  and,  as  the  summer  ad 
vanced,  a  gradual  calm  pervaded  both  the 
land  and  the  family. 

Through. the  middle  of  the  day  all  en 
joyed  the  refreshing  siesta,  and  by  the 
early  afternoon  the  ocean  breeze  was  stir 
ring  delightfully.  Great  baskets  of  lus 
cious  fruits  were  picked  daily  and  placed 
about  the  veranda.  In  the  grape  arbor  a 
table  held  always  a  pitcher  of  cool  lem 
onade,  delightfully  softened  with  fruit 
flavorings. 

The  Dona  Maria  loved  to  prepare  pleas 
ant  drinks,  and,  now  that  Arturo  had  re 
turned  and  Father  Ramirez  came  more 
often  to  the  ranch,  the  good  woman  had 
frequent  opportunities  for  serving  her 
friends. 


236  MARIPOSILLA. 

She  revived  the  pleasant  Spanish  custom 
of  gathering  in  the  arbor  for  light  refresh 
ments.  Each  day  she  grew  happier  and 
more  hopeful  in  regard  to  the  future  of 
her  child. 

The  old  priest  also  believed  that  Mari- 
posilla  would  soon  recover  from  her  child 
ish  disappointment  and  be  but  too  willing 
to  accept  for  a  husband  the  handsome 
Arturo,  who  had  now  a  half  interest  in  a 
large  quicksilver  mine  in  Old  Mexico. 

During  the  quiet  afternoons  Arturo 
took  the  greatest  pains  to  explain  to 
Father  Ramirez  his  plans  and  ambitions. 
In  the  old  summer  house  the  young  man 
would  spread  out  the  map  of  Mexico,  trac 
ing  eagerly  the  new  railroads,  while  he 
located,  enthusiastically,  his  mine. 

"There  is  no  country  like  it,"  the 
younger  man  would  declare,  joyfully.  "  I 
am  impatient  every  moment  that  I  remain 
away. 

"  Of  course,  the  American  hounds  are 
stealing  in,  just  as  they  stole  into  Califor 
nia.  Their  cursed  gold  ought  to  buy 
them  Paradise;  yet,  in  Mexico  they  can 
never  be  the  aristocracy.  The  gates  and 
doors  of  the  old  families  will  always  re- 


MARIPOSILLA.  237 

main  barred  to  the  pale  thieves  who  seek 
to  enter." 

"  Be  not  so  angry  with  the  strangers,  my 
son,"  replied  the  old  priest.  "  Remember 
that  gold  and  brains  are  both  necessary  in 
the  development  of  any  undeveloped  coun 
try.  The  Americans  have  both.  Love  of 
race  is  noble,  but  often  it  dwarfs  the  mind. 
The  cosmopolitan  will  ever  succeed,  while 
the  narrow  and  revengeful  will  generally 
fail.  But  here  comes  the  Dona  Maria,  we 
will  contend  no  more,"  the  old  priest  ex 
claimed,  joyfully,  as  he  clasped  the  hand 
of  his  dear  old  friend. 

"  Arturo  is  a  true  son  of  Spain,"  he  said, 
gazing  into  the  burning  face  of  the  youth 
he  had  always  loved.  "  He  is  unlike  his 
generation.  He  should  have  lived  earlier." 

I  had  heard  without  attempting  to  listen. 
Through  my  open  window  I  often  caught 
snatches  of  conversation  that  gave  me  a 
pleasant  insight  into  the  lives  of  these 
most  interesting  people.  The  warm,  un 
restrained  affection  and  tender  social  rela 
tions  existing  between  the  old  priest  and 
his  parishioners  were  things  that  I  had 
not  until  now  understood. 

I  often  heard,  in  quiet,  half  undertone, 


238  MARIPOSILLA. 

the  name  of  Mariposilla.  Sometimes 
Arturo  grew  passionate  in  spite  of  his 
discretion.  Then  the  old  priest  would 
reprove  him  gently;  for  he  was  a  born 
Jesuit,  restraining  all  those  about  him  with 
calm  determination. 

"Peace,  my  son,  always  peace!"  he 
would  say.  "Time  alone  can  do  for  us 
what  haste  could  never  accomplish.  Soon 
the  blow  will  descend,  for  the  false  lover 
will  marry  the  heiress.  The  poor  little 
one  will  be  crushed  for  a  time,  and  then 
she  will  revive. 

"  Remember,  through  these  hard  weeks 
of  waiting,  only  your  love.  Let  not  anger 
or  revenge  fill  your  young  heart.  Keep 
that  ever  clean  and  pure,  ready  for  the 
treasure  it  shall  some  day  hold." 

"  I  will  try  to  obey,  Father,"  the  young 
man  replied,  rebelliously.  "  It  is  easy  for 
you  to  reprove,"  he  exclaimed.  "  You 
who  have  never  known  the  misery  of  a 
hopeless  love." 

A  strange  shadow  flitted  across  the  old 
priest's  face.  "  How  knowest  thou,  my 
son,  that  I  never  battled  with  unrequited 
affection?  Judge  not  that  the  old  father  is 
stone.  He  was  once  even  as  thyself.  But 


MARIPOSILLA.  239 

God  forbid  that  tie  should  think  of  aught 
now  but  the  world  beyond,  and  poor  souls 
trying  to  find  it." 

"Forgive  me,  Father,"  the  young  man 
said,  tenderly.  "  I  will  be  a  good  son,  and, 
in  return  for  my  obedience,  you  shall  one 
day  order  the  chimes  of  Old  San  Gabriel 
to  ring  for  my  wedding." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  announcement  of  the  marriage  of 
Sidney  Sanderson  to  Gladys  Carpenter 
reached  us  during  the  latter  part  of  June. 

We  were  indebted  to  Mrs.  Wilbur  for 
the  New  York  papers  in  which  we  read 
the  embellished  details  of  the  "strictly 
private  nuptials."  The  several  accounts 
agreed  in  pronouncing  the  marriage  the 
most  noteworthy  matrimonial  event  of  the 
early  summer.  The  facts,  in  brief,  were  as 
follows: 

"  The  beautiful  bride,  heiress  to  three 
millions,  although  in  deep  mourning  for 
her  father,  had  laid  aside,  only  for  the 
wedding  ceremony,  the  somber  robes  of 
her  recent  bereavement.  At  the  close  of 
the  impressive  yet  simple  service,  she  had 
resumed  her  mourning,  preparatory  to  the 
departure  for  Scotland.  On  the  historic 
isle,  sequestered  in  a  romantic  castle  over 
looking  Loch  Lomond,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  San 
derson  would  spend  their  honeymoon. 
Society  had  unanimously  agreed  that  a 

(240) 


MARIPOSILLA.  241 

match  more  suitable  in  every  way  had  sel 
dom  occurred.  The  high  social  position 
of  both  parties,  the  beauty  and  fortune  of 
the  bride,  combined  with  the  popular 
traits  of  the  handsome  groom,  pointed 
unmistakably  to  social  leadership. 

"  The  palatial  home  of  the  late  Rufus 
Carpenter  would,  doubtless,  become  a  rec 
ognized  center,  when  his  beautiful  daugh 
ter  again  rejoined  with  her  chosen  hus 
band,  the  charmed  circle  of  the  Three 
Hundred." 

This  is  the  substance  of  what  we  knew. 
All  that  we  would  ever  certainly  know  of 
the  two  lives  in  question. 

For  us  the  history  of  Sidney  Sanderson 
was  virtually  closed.  I  alone  claimed  the 
privilege  of  imagining  his  uneventful  end. 

A  creditable  career  he  could  never 
have.  A  life  of  indolent  luxury,  envi 
roned  by  the  ordinary  excitements  of  club 
life,  would  be  the  probable  limit  of  his 
achievements. 

His  domestic  life  would,  in  time,  become 
a  monotonous  restraint. 

In  dismissing  him,  I  will  always  believe 
that  he  thought  often  during  the  years  of 
his  aimless  existence  of  Mariposilla.  Her 

16 


242  MARIPOSILLA. 

beautiful  dark  eyes,  flooded  with  adoring 
love,  must  have  haunted  many  of  the  in 
different  hours  spent  with  his  highly 
refined,  philosophical  wife. 

After  the  first  cool  understanding,  when 
both  the  man  and  the  woman  acknowl 
edged  the  disappointment  that  each  felt 
in  the  other,  their  lives  would  run  on 
quietly  and  indifferently,  each  moved  by 
separate  interests  that  enormous  wealth 
made  possible. 

Their  elegant  home  I  can  readily  pic 
ture.  Artistic  rooms,  undisturbed  by  little 
meddlers.  Silent  halls,  in  which  echoed 
no  voices  of  children. 

Dark  shades,  often  drawn  close  before 
the  windows  of  a  mansion  deserted  for 
months  at  a  time,  by  reason  of  the  pro 
tracted  absence  of  both  mistress  and  mas 
ter,  who  seldom  traveled  in  the  same 
direction,  finding,  as  the  years  made 
plainer  the  remoteness  of  their  tastes  and 
principles,  that  antipodal  distances  alone 
could  insure  for  each  a  comparative  com 
fort. 

I  learned  from  authority  that  Mrs.  San 
derson  escaped  old  age. 

On  the  verge  of  the  dreaded  boundaries 


MARIPOSILLA.  243 

of  infirmity  her  selfish  energies  gave  way. 
An  unexpected  puff  of  disappointment 
chilled  her  nerve,  while  it  extinguished, 
midway  in  its  socket,  the  brilliant  candle 
that  had  cheered  no  lonely  heart,  had  illu 
minated  no  sorrowing  soul. 

For  Mariposilla  alone  the  announce 
ment  of  Sidney's  marriage  contained 
crushing  evidences  of  his  final  desertion. 
The  poor  child  had  always  believed  that 
her  lover  would  return.  We  had  never 
been  able  to  convince  her  of  the  hope 
lessness  of  the  dream. 

Now  that  the  blow  had  at  last  descended, 
we  hoped  for  much. 

Through  all  the  long  weeks  we  had  done 
nothing  but  wait.  Even  now  we  must 
wait  still  longer.  We  dared  not  show  im 
patience  at  the  child's  terrible  grief,  when 
she  remained  as  one  stunned,  refusing,  day 
after  day,  our  sympathy  and  society. 

It  was  only  in  the  cool  of  the  evening 
that  she  left  her  room  to  join  the  family 
upon  the  veranda.  Then  she  would  slip 
away  by  herself,  hiding  in  the  darkest 
corner  among  the  vines,  a  listless  shadow 
in  white  that  we  dared  neither  to  comfort 
nor  to  rebuke. 


244  MARIPOSILLA. 

The  summer  was  now  at  its  height;  the 
days  were  warmer  and  the  cool  nights 
more  welcome.  The  haze  had  thickened 
about  the  mountains;  the  sky  was  often 
without  a  cloud. 

The  seaside  resorts  were  crowded  with 
pleasure-seekers.  Only  the  industrious 
ones  of  the  Valley  remained  at  home  to 
attend  to  the  immense  fruit  crops,  ripen 
ing  every  hour. 

The  hotels  and  villas  were  undergoing 
repairs  for  the  ensuing  winter.  Society,  in 
a  body,  appeared  to  be  rusticating  at  Santa 
Catalina. 

We,  too,  would  have  gone  to  the  sea, 
but  sorrow  held  us  down  with  a  relentless 
grip.  The  once  happy  household  of  the 
Dona  Maria  Del  Valle  was  no  longer  the 
abode  of  peace  and  joy. 

Each  day  Mariposilla  required  more 
care,  for  she  was  now  really  ill.  She  went 
about  the  house  and  garden  as  usual,  but 
we  had  thus  far  failed  to  arouse  her  from 
her  grief.  Each  day  she  grew  more  silent 
and  suspicious,  shedding  fewer  tears,  but 
refusing  always  to  listen  to  a  word  of  re 
proach  against  the  man  who  had  deceived 
her. 


MARIPOSILLA.  245 

Now,  in  addition  to  the  anxiety  for  her 
miserable  child,  another  stroke  had  fallen 
upon  the  Dona  Maria. 

The  angel  of  death  had  entered  again  her 
home — her  aged  mother  was  dying.  Father 
Ramirez  had  administered  the  Holy  Sacra 
ment,  and  now  only  the  most  powerful 
opiates  could  relieve,  temporarily,  the  aged 
sufferer,  sinking  away  from  a  horrible  dis 
ease  that  for  years  had  been  unsuspected. 

To  myself  fell  the  incessant  care  of 
Mariposilla. 

It  was  seldom  now  that  the  sad-eyed 
Dona  Maria  left  her  mother's  chamber. 
She  had  procured  a  Mexican  woman  to 
superintend  the  household,  while  she  de 
voted  herself,  lovingly  and  unceasingly,  to 
the  care  of  the  sufferer.  Day  and  night 
she  watched  alone,  until  I  feared  she 
would  drop  under  the  strain. 

It  was  astonishing  how  tenaciously  the 
aged  woman  lingered.  Sometimes  she 
would  revive,  with  almost  supernatural 
strength.  Stimulated  by  the  opiates,  she 
would  protest  desperately  against  remain 
ing  in  bed.  The  poor  old  creature  seemed 
to  think  that  the  bed  alone  was  responsi 
ble  for  her  death. 


246  MARIPOSILLA. 

In  her  less  painful  moments,  when  the 
opiates  soothed  without  stupefying,  she 
talked  excitedly  in  Spanish,  living  always 
far  back  in  the  days  of  her  prosperity. 

She  was  again  on  the  far-reaching  ran- 
cho,  riding  by  the  side  of  her  husband, 
or  dispensing  free  hospitality  to  a  house 
full  of  guests.  Always  with  her  were  the 
two  little  daughters,  Maria  and  Lola. 

"She  remembers  not  the  sorrows  which 
have  befallen  us,"  the  Dona  Maria  would 
say  with  tearful  eyes,  that  each  day  grew 
larger  as  the  rings  of  sorrow  deepened 
beneath  them.  "  She  mercifully  believes 
that  my  dear  sister  and  I  are  still  little 
ones  at  home. 

"  We  are  continually  running  from  her 
side  with  messages  for  the  maids. 

"  Sometimes  she  commanded  us  to  stop 
our  play  and  go  to  the  old  church  for 
prayers.  Again,  she  coaxes  our  father  to 
buy  more  jewels,  that  we  may  outshine 
in  beauty  our  neighbors  at  the  grand  wed 
ding,  soon  to  occur  upon  a  distant  rancho, 
where  there  will  be  for  days  feasting  and 
great  joy. 

"  Is  it  not  kind,  dear  Senora,  that  the  old 
mother  should  depart  among  pleasant 


MARIPOSILLA.  247 

memories,  knowing  not  of  my  poor  child's 
humiliation?" 

As  the  Dona  Maria  spoke,  the  glory  of 
unselfishness  lit  for  a  moment  with  saintly 
beauty  her  dark,  worn  face. 

"  Yes,  dear  friend,"  I  replied,  "  it  is  kind 
and  sweet  that  the  loved  one  can  go  to 
rest  in  peace,  but  it  is  wrong  for  you  to 
refuse  relief  from  the  heavy  strain  of  the 
sick-chamber.  Oblige  me  this  once  by 
allowing  your  place  to  be  filled.  You  will 
be  ill,  I  am  sure,  if  you  take  neither  air  nor 
rest." 

"  Thanks,  dear  Senora,"  she  replied,  "  I 
am  happy  for  your  thoughtful  care;  but  I 
can  now  no  longer  take  rest  away  from  my 
mother.  Sometimes  I  fall,  for  a  few  mo 
ments,  asleep  by  her  side,  but  I  wish  always 
to  be  near,  that  I  may  watch  tenderly 
until  her  spirit  has  flown. 

"  I  should  grieve  sorely  if  another  closed 
forever  the  dear  eyes." 

I  saw  that  the  devoted  daughter  was 
happiest  performing  alone  the  last  few 
duties  that  after  death  grow  measurelessly 
sweet,  and  said  no  more.  A  few  hours 
later  the  Dona  Maria  stood  at  my  door 
quiet  and  tearless. 


248  MARIPOSILLA. 

"Dear  Senora,"  she  said,  "my  mother  is 
dead." 

"  What  can  I  do? "  I  cried,  daring  not  yet 
to  presume  with  sympathy.  Under  the 
first  cold  shock  of  the  impalpable  mys 
tery,  I  longed  for  a  task  that  would  check 
the  dreadful,  unsatisfied  questions  that 
thronged  my  mind. 

"  There  is  little  to  do.  Arturo  had  gone 
for  Father  Ramirez. 

"  If  only  the  Senora  will  speak  to  my 
unhappy  child,  I  shall  be  most  thankful. 
Tell  her  that  her  grandmother  is  no  more, 
but  restrain  her  from  coming  for  a  time 
into  the  chamber  of  death. 

"Soon  I  shall  have  done  all.  I  shall 
then  come  for  my  child  and  lead  her  to 
the  dear  one." 

As  the  Dona  Maria  finished  speaking, 
she  vanished  from  my  side. 

As  I  heard  her  close  the  door  of  her 
mother's  room,  I  knew  that  she  would  first 
pray  before  the  shrine  of  the  little  Virgin. 

For  a  moment  I  listened  in  the  silence, 
almost  longing  myself  to  entreat  comfort 
of  the  image. 

I  remembered  how  I  had  fainted  Christ 
mas  morning,  and  how  gladly  I  had  re- 


MARIPOSILLA.  249 

gained  consciousness  in  the  protecting 
presence  of  the  little  Mother.  I  knew  that 
the  Dona  Maria  would  gain  strength  and 
courage  before  the  shrine  of  her  implicit 
faith,  and  my  own  heart  hungered  for  a 
touch  of  palpable  comfort. 

What  if  the  little  image  was  only  painted 
wood?  It  whispered  something  to  the 
simple,  aching  heart  that  a  stern  theology 
could  never  say. 

Alas!  I  knew  that  for  myself  there  was 
nothing  but  blind  hope  and  fruitless  spec 
ulation.  I  could  never  have  knelt  before 
a  picture- or  a  shrine,  but  I  envied,  none  the 
less,  the  Spanish  woman  who  found  peace 
and  comfort,  while  I  so  often  suffered  in 
the  dark,  unsatisfied  and  rebellious. 

When  at  last  I  heard  quiet  steps,  I 
knew  that  the  Dona  Maria  had  arisen 
from  her  prayers.  I  knew  that  in  her  sor 
rowing  heart  there  was  a  blessed  faith, 
childlike  and  strong,  that  would  help  her 
to  perform,  quietly  and  correctly,  the  last 
sad  offices  for  her  dead. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

I  SOUGHT  in  vain  about  the  house  and 
garden  for  Mariposilla. 

The  child  had  not  been  away  from  the 
ranch  since  the  news  of  Sidney's  marriage, 
and  her  sudden  absence  alarmed  me. 

I  remembered  that  it  was  Saturday. 
Perhaps  Mariposilla  had  gone  to  the  old 
church  for  confession.  Arturo  had  the 
pony,  and  for  a  moment  I  was  in  despair. 

Fortunately  a  neighbor  arrived  with  a 
horse  and  buggy,  which  I  borrowed. 

I  was  determined  not  to  alarm  the  Dona 
Maria,  and  drove  away  at  once  in  the 
direction  of  the  Old  Mission.  The  road, 
for  the  first  time,  seemed  long  and  unin 
teresting.  The  neighbor's  horse  was  an 
ancient  nag,  who  discovered  at  once  my 
impatience  and  inexperience.  He  abso 
lutely  refused  to  accelerate  his  midsum 
mer  dog-trot.  The  persuasions  of  a 
stranger  he  ignored. 

Despairing,  I  submitted,  while  I  vaguely 
questioned  myself  as  to  what  I  should  do, 

(250) 


MARIPOSILLA.  251 

in  case  Mariposilla  had  not  gone  to  the 
church. 

When  at  last  I  caught  sight  of  the  long, 
gray  outline,  hiding  among  cool,  green 
peppers,  my  heart  seemed  to  stand  still. 

As  I  turned  into  the  main  approach  lead 
ing  to  the  Mission,  the  old  bells  broke  sud 
denly  the  oppressive  silence.  Their  melan 
choly  strokes  were  for  the  dead;  perhaps 
for  the  Dona  Maria's  mother,  I  thought. 

Mechanically  I  counted  the  tolls,  until 
their  number  had  reached  sixteen,  then  the 
old  bells  paused  a  moment  before  they  again 
repeated  the  years  of  the  youthful  dead. 

Upon  approaching  nearer  I  perceived 
that  a  funeral  procession  had  just  left  the 
church.  An  assistant  priest  and  a  bare 
footed  Mexican  altar-boy  stood  framed  in 
the  arch  of  the  ancient  portal. 

The  sad  little  procession  was  now  enter 
ing  the  old  graveyard  at  the  rear  of  the 
Mission.  I  could  hear  the  sobs  of  the 
mourners,  and  my  heart  went  out  to  the 
poor  mother,  garbed  in  faded  mourning, 
bowed  with  both  grief  and  labor. 

The  little  coffin  was  borne  on  a  bier  by 
six  swarthy  young  Mexicans,  possibly  one 
of  them  the  lover  of  the  dead  girl. 


252  MARIPOSILLA. 

The  sight  was  pathetic,  and  at  this  par 
ticular  time  I  felt  it  to  be  more  than  I 
could  bear. 

A  moment  later  I  peered  into  the  old 
church  —  it  was  empty. 

Where  now  could  I  go?  To  whom 
should  I  apply  for  help? 

Father  Ramirez  was  evidently  not  about; 
a  strange  priest  had  followed  the  funeral 
procession,  and  doubtless  the  old  friend  of 
the  Del  Valles  had  gone  at  once  with 
Arturo. 

I  had  probably  missed  passing  them  by 
taking  a  different  road,  having  endeavored 
to  shorten  the  distance  by  a  cut  through 
a  ranch. 

Mechanically  I  climbed  into  the  buggy, 
believing  that  there  was  no  course  left  but 
to  return  home  for  assistance,  when  in  the 
distance  I  saw,  almost  like  a  sign  from  on 
high,  the  deserted  hotel  of  East  San  Gabriel. 

Without  stopping  to  consider  the  prob 
able  absurdity  of  my  surmise,  I  started  the 
old  horse  upon  the  maddest  race  of  his  life. 

In  my  excitement  the  wielding  of  the 
whip  was  a  nervous  joy. 

The  old  bones  of  the  beast  seemed  almost 
to  crack  as  he  leaped  along  the  road. 


MARIPOSILLA.  253 

All  at  once  I  seemed  to  be  acting  with 
out  reason,  for  when  I  at  last  entered  the 
grounds  of  the  deserted  caravansary,  there 
were  no  evidences  to  justify  my  suspicions- 

The  summer's  silence  was  intense;  not 
a  human  being  was  visible,  and  the  deso 
lation  pervading  the  deserted  resort  was 
sickening  as  well  as  satisfying. 

I  felt  that  I  had  been  absurd  to  believe 
for  a  moment  that  Mariposilla  could  have 
wished  to  reenter  the  place,  and  I  was 
also  convinced  that,  in  her  feeble  con 
dition,  she  could  never  have  walked  the 
distance  -from  the  ranch. 

The  old  horse  was  now  resting  in  front 
of  the  silent  hotel,  and  my  very  inaction 
was  unbearable.  I  racked  my  brain  to 
the  verge  of  despair,  before  I  again  hit 
upon  a  possible  explanation  for  Maripo- 
silla's  disappearance. 

Why  had  I  not  thought  of  it  before? 
Why  had  I  taken  it  for  granted  that  Ar- 
turo  had  gone  alone  for  Father  Ramirez? 
The  priest  drove  always  in  his  own  con 
veyance,  and  what  could  be  more  natural 
than  to  believe  that  Arturo  had  induced 
Mariposilla  to  accompany  him  upon  his 
errand?  Was  it  not  reasonable  to  believe 


254  MARIPOSILLA. 

that  the  young  people  had  laid  aside  their 
personal  feelings  at  such  a  time,  desiring 
to  perform  together  a  last,  trifling  duty  to 
the  dead  grandmother? 

True  to  the  comforting  inspiration,  I 
had  turned  the  reluctant  horse  to  leave 
the  grounds,  when,  rushing  joyfully  in 
front  of  the  astonished  brute,  I  beheld  the 
hounds,  Mariposilla's  grayhounds,  who 
knew  where  their  little  mistress  was  hiding 

Hastily  hitching  the  horse  to  the  near 
est  tree  I  reconnoitered  at  once  the  long 
veranda.  Each  door  that  I  tried  was  locked ; 
the  windows  were  fastened,  and  the  inside 
blinds  closed. 

Close  at  my  heels  followed  the  dogs, 
now  wildly  excited. 

As  a  last  resort,  I  decided  to  urge  them 
to  lead  me. 

"  Dear  Pachita!  dear  Pancho!  "  I  cried, 
patting  encouragingly  their  long,  beau 
tiful  heads,  while  I  entreated  their  almost 
human  eyes  to  reply.  "  Take  me  to  Mari- 
posilla." 

"Where  is  Mariposilla?"  I  repeated, 
slowly,  "your  dear  little  mistress,  Mari 
posilla?  " 

For  a  moment,  the  poor  brutes  whined 


MARIPOSILLA.  255 

piteously;  the  next,  they  had  darted  away 
to  the  rear  of  the  hotel. 

I  followed  hotly,  and  at  the  corner  of  the 
house  I  perceived  them  wild  with  excite 
ment  at  the  foot  of  the  escape  ladder,  lead 
ing  from  the  ground  to  the  upper  veranda. 

I  needed  no  more  to  convince  me  of  the 
truth. 

Mariposilla  had  ascended  the  ladder 
which  the  dogs  had  not  been  able  to  scale. 
The  half -frantic  girl  had  sought  to  enter 
again  the  rooms  once  occupied  by  the  San 
dersons. 

I  delayed  no  longer.  In  a  moment  I 
was  above,  trying  in  vain  the  doors.  As 
I  approached  the  window  of  Sidney's  now 
deserted  bedroom,  I  perceived  instantly 
that  its  glass  had  been  shattered,  and  knew 
at  once  that  Mariposilla  was  within. 

For  a  moment,  I  stood  rooted  with  ap 
prehension;  I  dared  not  enter.  A  horrible 
dread  deprived  me  of  strength,  until  from 
within  a  piteous  sobbing,  more  musical, 
more  welcome  than  any  sounds  which  I 
had  ever  before  heard,  told  me  that  the 
child  I  sought  was  safe. 

''Thank  God!"  I  cried,  springing  into 
the  room. 


256  MARIPOSILLA. 

There,  upon  Sidney's  deserted  bed,  upon 
his  pillow,  lay  Mariposilla. 

For  a  moment  I  shrank  away,  for  the 
child  had  not  heard  me  enter.  I  would 
willingly  have  allowed  her  the  full  extent 
of  her  strange,  unusual  consolation.  Now 
that  she  was  safe,  I  would  have  stayed 
with  her  the  remainder  of  the  afternoon, 
but  the  thought  of  the  Dona  Maria  com 
pelled  me  to  speak. 

"Dear  child,"  I  said,  approaching  the  bed; 
"  you  must  come  home.  We  are  in  great 
distress.  Your  grandmother  has  just  died." 

"Just  died?"  she  repeated,  touchingly. 
"  Why  can  I,  too,  not  die?  Indeed,  kind 
Senora,  I  am  most  tired  of  life;  I  would 
gladly  go  with  my  grandmother." 

"No,  dear,"  I  answered,  "you  must  not 
want  to  die.  It  is  wrong  for  you  to  remain 
so  miserable.  You  should  remember  your 
dear  mother,  and  try  to  recover  your 
spirits,  to  be  once  more  our  good,  happy 
child. 

"  Think  no  more  of  Sidney;  dismiss  now 
forever  from  your  thoughts  the  selfish  man 
who  has  deceived  you." 

Like  a  young  tigress  wounded  into  fury, 
the  girl  sprang  from  the  bed. 


MARIPOSILLA.  257 

"  I  blame  him  not,"  she  cried,  passion 
ately.  "  It  is  the  wicked,  wicked  Gladys 
who  has  stolen  his  love.  I  knew  she  would 
coax  him  from  me  when  she  sent  so  often 
her  beautiful  face  to  his  mother. 

"  She  loved  him  much,  I  was  sure,  but 
he  said  always  that  he  loved  her  not  in 
return ;  that  she  made  him  most  tired,  when 
he  must  listen  to  her  learning  and  long 
words. 

"That  he  loved  none  but  me  —  poor, 
little  Mariposilla,  who  knew  nothing  but 
to  love  him  only." 

"  Yes,  dear,"  I  said;  "  you  have  loved  as 
few  ever  love.  I  pity  the  man  who  has 
thrown  lightly  away  your  warm,  true 
heart;  but  I  know  that  after  a  time  you 
will  cease  to  pine.  You  will  see  that 
Sidney  gave  you  up,  not  because  Miss 
Carpenter  was  more  beautiful,  or  that  he 
loved  her  more,  but  because  she  had 
millions  of  dollars  to  make  his  life  luxu 
rious  and  idle. 

"  Be  a  brave  girl,"  I  continued,  noticing 
with  pleasure  that  the  child  had  bright 
ened  visibly  at  my  words.  "  Be  good  and 
brave  for  your  own  sake,  and  for  the  sake 
of  the  dear  Dona  Maria. 

17 


258  MARIPOSILLA. 

"  Come  home  before  you  are  missed,  or 
your  mother  will  be  greatly  distressed  by 
your  absence." 

Obediently  she  followed  me  from  the 
room,  and  down  the  ladder.  As  we  drove 
away  from  the  grounds  she  threw  her 
arms  about  my  neck  and  sobbed  pitifully. 

"  Dear,  kind  Senora,"  she  cried,  "  I  will 
be  good;  indeed  I  will  be  good. 

"  If  Sidney  loves  Gladys  only  for  gold, 
he  will  yet  come  back!  he  will  yet  be 
mine! " 

It  was  impossible  for  me  to  misunder 
stand  the  girl's  passionate  meaning.  I 
trembled  at  the  recollection  of  the  oppor 
tunities  and  temptations  of  the  winter. 
For  the  first  time  a  terrible  realization  of 
the  child's  Spanish  inheritances  seized  me. 
I  felt  that  she  would  never  acknowledge 
moral  barriers  to  be  a  final  restraint  to  her 
denied  destiny;  never  be  able  to  resist  the 
undisciplined  desires  of  her  heart. 

For  the  present  I  could  not  hope  to 
unfold  the  immoral,  or  impossible  con 
sequences  of  Sidney  Sanderson's  return. 
Nothing  but  time  and  angelic  patience 
would  enable  me  to  make  plain  to  the 
ignorant  girl  the  arbitrary  laws  of  fate. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE  sun  had  departed  for  the  day,  the 
evening  had  flushed  and  died  in  the  cool 
arms  of  night. 

In  the  chamber  of  death  there  was  now 
the  breathless  calm  which  follows  when 
all  has  been  done. 

Before  the  little  Virgin,  and  about  the 
spotless  bed,  where  in  purest  linen  slept 
the  mother  of  the  Dona  Maria,  holy 
candles  had  been  lighted.  Still  unmo 
lested  stood  the  small  stand  covered  with 
a  fine  drawn  linen  cover,  upon  which  had 
rested  for  weeks  the  tumblers  and  bottles 
needed  now  no  longer. 

"See,"  the  Dona  Maria  said  tenderly, 
"  see  the  spoon  in  the  potion  I  had  pre 
pared  but  a  moment  before  the  poor 
suffering  body  found  peace." 

When  I  offered  to  remove  the  medicines, 
the  devoted  daughter  was  not  willing. 

"  Touch  not  the  table  yet,  kind  Senora," 
she  pleaded.  "  Wait  until  the  dear  body 
has  been  taken  away;  then  will  I  find 

(259) 


260  MARIPOSILLA. 

courage  to  disturb  the  tumblers  that  the 
dear  hands  once  held." 

As  the  Dona  Maria  spoke,  Mariposilla 
entered  the  room,  bearing  a  little  cross  of 
white  roses.  She  laid  it  timidly  upon  the 
breast  of  her  grandmother;  then,  fright 
ened  and  hysterical,  she  fled  from  the  bed. 

"  Poor  child,"  said  the  Dona  Maria,  "she 
fears  death  greatly.  She  thinks  only  of 
the  fire  that  must  at  first  purify  the  soul, 
not  of  the  joys  of  eternity. 

"  Go  now,  Senora,  retire  at  once  for  the 
night.  You  are  weary  and  in  need  of  rest. 

"  I  care  not  for  company.  I  will  remain 
alone  with  my  mother  and  our  blessed 
Lady.  I  desire  to  entreat  that  the  suffer 
ings  of  the  dear  one  may  be  short. 

"  Surely  the  dear  Lord  will  have  mercy 
upon  the  aged  one  who  has  already  en 
dured  so  much  upon  earth." 

"Good  Dona  Maria,"  I  plead,  "you  will 
surely  be  ill  if  you  kneel  all  night  in 
prayer.  To-morrow  will  be  a  sad,  hard 
day,  and  without  rest  you  will  be  unfit  for 
its  strain." 

"No,  Senora,"  she  replied  firmly;  "I 
shall  not  be  ill.  After  midnight  I  shall 
sleep;  until  then  I  shall  pray." 


MARIPOSILLA.  261 

I  saw  that  my  persuasions  were  in  vain, 
and  left  her  alone  with  her  dead. 

As  I  passed  through  the  living-room  to 
reach  my  own,  I  was  startled  by  a  white- 
robed  figure  in  front  of  the  Virgin's  picture. 

The  full  July  moon,  streaming  through 
the  open  door,  discovered  touchingly  the 
hopeless  misery  of  Mariposilla.  She  was 
in  her  nightgown,  gazing  piteously  into 
the  illuminated  face  of  the  unsympathetic 
doll  above  the  chimney  shelf. 

As  I  approached  her,  she  turned  sadly 
from  the  picture. 

In  the  moonlight,  I  saw  great  tears  shin 
ing  in  her  eyes. 

"  She  loves  me  not;  she  is  angry  and 
smiles  no  more,"  she  said,  despairingly. 

The  child's  lovely  face  expressed  so  per 
fectly  the  agony  of  desertion  that  I  felt 
powerless  to  comfort  her.  Her  firm  belief 
in  the  Virgin's  displeasure  had  torn  from 
her  heart  its  last  hope.  For  weeks  she 
believed  that  the  little  mother  would  have 
mercy,  would  intercede  for  her,  and  restore 
in  some  miraculous  way  her  lover;  but 
to-night  the  Virgin  would  not  smile.  She 
refused  to  pity  her  sorrowful  child. 

"Dear  Mariposilla,"  I  said,  remember- 


262  MARIPOSILLA. 

ing  the  tactics  that  I  sometimes  employed 
with  Marjorie;  "you  must  not  think  be 
cause  the  Virgin  refuses  to  smile  that  she 
is  angry. 

"We  ourselves  cannot  smile.  We  are 
sad  and  awed  by  the  presence  of  death, 
and  surely  it  would  be  heartless  for  '  our 
Lady '  to  smile,  when  those  who  love  and 
trust  her  are  in  trouble. 

"You  are  nervous  and  weary.  You 
shall  room  with  me  to-night.  I  have 
already  prepared  you  a  nice  bed  upon  my 
couch." 

I  drew  her  gently  in  the  direction  of  my 
room,  persuaded  that  I  had  quieted  for  a 
time  her  moody  fears. 

"  No!  no!  "  she  cried,  bursting  away  from 
me;  "  I  can  not  sleep.  I  will  never  sleep 
.again." 

She  rushed,  passionately,  through  the 
open  door  into  the  moonlight.  In  her 
bare  feet,  clad  only  in  her  flowing  night 
gown,  she  stood  like  a  spirit  among  the 
dark  vines  and  lacy  shadows  of  the  old 
veranda. 

Her  hair  fell  about  her  shoulders  like  a 
tragic  veil,  while  a  sudden  agony  touched 
her  young,  white  face. 


MARIPOSILLA.  263 

"  You  know  not  what  I  have  suffered," 
she  sobbed.  "  You  think  I  shall  forget, 
but  I  never  shall.  I  can  not  bear  that  he 
should  not  be  mine." 

"  If  only  he  had  gone  away  like  my 
grandmother,  I  could  endure  never  to  see 
him  again.  He  would  then  be  mine!  all 
mine,  and  I  could  go  joyfully  into  a  con 
vent  and  pray  always  for  his  soul." 

Her  voice  had  grown  tearless  and  sharp. 

From  the  corner  of  the  house  a  tall, 
dark  form  was  approaching. 

"Come  in  quickly,"  I  whispered;  "  Arturo 
is  listening." 

She  obeyed  me  now,  sinking  wearily, 
as  we  entered  my  room,  upon  the  waiting 
couch. 

I  was  devoutly  thankful  when  I  believed 
her  to  be  sleeping. 

She  had  scarcely  stirred  for  nearly  an 
hour,  and  I  told  myself,  wearily,  that  I, 
too,  might  perhaps  catch  a  little  rest.  The 
day  had  been  a  perpetual  strain.  I  was 
not  expecting  or  intending  to  sleep 
soundly,  but  I  felt  a  merciful  relief  in 
lying  quietly  by  the  side  of  Marjorie. 

For  the  night,  at  least,  Mariposilla  was 
safe.  I  could  only  hope  that  the  morrow 


264  MARIPOSILLA. 

would  dawn  more  tranquilly  than  the  try 
ing"  day  now,  at  last,  over. 

After  the  funeral,  I  intended  to  go 
immediately  to  Catalina  with  Marjorie 
and  Mariposilla.  I  would  wait  no  longer; 
the  heartbroken  child  must  leave  San 
Gabriel  at  once. 

I  was  arranging  my  plans  most  care 
fully,  when  I  fell  asleep  from  absolute 
exhaustion. 

When  I  awoke,  the  moon  was  no  longer 
casting  fantastic  shadows.  My  white 
walls  were  no  longer  softened  by  elfin 
touches. 

The  shadow  vines  and  pepper  branches 
had  disappeared  in  the  honest  light  of  the 
July  sun. 

The  morning  was  yet  deliciously  cool, 
but  the  day  was  fairly  begun,  even  now 
brimful  of  sweet  odors  and  bird-music. 

The  mockers,  who  had  sung  all  night, 
were  not  yet  weary,  but  less  belligerent. 
At  night  they  sometimes  quarreled,  but  in 
the  morning  their  little  disagreements 
were  adjusted. 

As  I  delayed  to  open  my  eyes,  half 
awake,  but  unwilling  to  shock  too  soon  the 
last  lingering  desire  to  doze,  I  seemed  to 


MARIPOSILLA.  265 

hear  a  familiar  rebuke  from  the  great 
pepper  tree  beyond  my  window. 

"Seiiora!  Senora!  Senora!"  called  an  old 
mocker.  "Get  up!  get  up!  get  up!" 
screamed  his  neighbor  from  the  next 
limb. 

I  fancied  now  as  I  listened,  that  the 
biids  had  tried  to  awaken  me  in  the  night. 
Vaguely  returned  an  ugly  dream,  with 
the  ceaseless  call  of  the  persistent  birds. 

In  a  moment  I  remembered  all.  The 
dead  grandmother,  Mariposilla,  the  mid 
night  cry  of  the  mockers  —  "Senora! 
Senora!  Senora!" 

Mariposilla? 

Where  was  she?  When  had  she  slipped 
away?  Did  the  birds  alone  know? 

The  couch  was  empty.  Each  pillow 
bore  the  mark  of  the  child's  weary  head. 

In  the  night,  while  I  slept,  my  restless 
captive  had  fled. 

I  sprang  across  the  hall  to  her  room;  it 
was  empty,  and  the  bed  undisturbed. 
Trembling  I  entered  the  death  chamber. 
The  Dona  Maria, was  alone;  her  child  was 
not  with  her. 

The  good  woman  was  again  before  the 
shrine  of  the  Virgin,  repeating  a  last 


266  MARIPOSILLA. 

prayer  for  her  dead,  preparatory  to  the 
painful  duties  of  the  morning. 

The  front  window  shades  were  closely 
drawn  to  exclude  the  morning-  sun,  but 
looking  north,  to  the  great,  quiet  moun 
tains,  an  open  window  invited  the  cool 
breath  of  the  day. 

Without  understanding  my  motives,  I 
took  a  hasty  survey  of  the  silent  room. 
To  all  appearances  everything  was  as 
usual. 

A  sheet  had  been  drawn  over  the  face 
of  the  dead,  and  the  holy  candles  were 
burning  low  and  pale. 

Mariposilla's  little  cross  of  white  roses 
was  still  fresh  where  the  child  had  placed 
it,  the  table  of  medicines  undisturbed  ex 
cept  the  tumbler  containing  the  unused 
opiate. 

Horrible  discovery! 

The  poisonous  glass  was  gone,  and  the 
dark,  innocent-looking  bottle  that  re 
mained  was  empty. 

How  could  I  grasp  the  frightful  suspi 
cion?  How  believe  that  the  Virgin  had 
forgotten  her  child?  How  bear  the  bur 
den  of  my  own  selfish  slumbers? 

Why  in  the  night  had  I  not  understood 


MARIPOSILLA.  267 

the  mocking-birds    when   they  called  in 
vain,  "  Senora!  Seiiora!  Senora?" 

*        *        *        *         *        *        * 

A  few  moments  later  Arturo  bore  in  his 
arms  from  the  arbor  the  lifeless  body  of 
Mariposilla. 

From  her  beautiful  face  the  color  had 
faded  forever. 

We  laid  her  upon  her  own  bed,  still 
robed  in  the  little  nightgown,  for  the  long 
sleep  that  had  closed  at  last  the  wakeful 
eyes. 

Poor  foolish,  beautiful  little  Butterfly, 
her  summer  was  now  forever  ended. 

As  I  performed  for  the  dead  girl  the 
last  few  loving  labors,  I  acquitted  her  in 
my  inmost  heart  of  her  terrible  crime. 
She  had  meant  only  to  rest,  to  forget  for  a 
time  in  sleep  the  anguish  of  her  cruel  dis 
appointment. 

When  from  between  the  great  century 
plants,  the  yellow  edges  of  their  spears 
shining  like  avenging  swords,  passed  the 
hearses  —  the  black  one  bearing  the  aged 
Spanish  woman,  the  white  one  bearing 
Mariposilla — I  remembered  the  tragic 
blooming  of  the  Gold  of  Ophir  rose. 

I  saw  again  the  old  veranda  illuminated 


268  MARIPOSILLA. 

with  Easter  glory.  I  saw  timid  buds  open 
to  full  roses.  Scintillating  in  the  spring 
sunshine,  more  lustrous  than  all,  I  saw  a 
child-bud  burst  into  a  maiden  flower.  I 
saw  its  petals  deepen  with  the  kisses  of 
the  sun;  then  I  saw  them  pale  and  fall  to 
the  ground;  for  the  sun  had  hidden  his 
face. 

I  saw  the  great-hearted  Dona  Maria 
bending  wearily,  as  she  attempted  to 
gather  the  scattered  petals.  I  saw  the 
dark  Arturo  kneel  beside  her. 

Together  they  seemed  to  pray;  but  in 
the  heart  of  the  man  was  born  a  horrible 
curse  for  those  two,  now  far  away. 

In  my  misery  I  saw  the  Demon  of  Self 
ishness,  blacker  than  night,  blacker  than 
death. 

I  tried  to  pray  —  but  I  could  only  weep. 

THE  END. 


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